The Crossroads Demon
by geraldineamoeba
Summary: (Based on a crazy AU lucid dream.) I was sick, really sick, until a certain someone comes along & makes me an offer. I thought it was a joke, that he was an idiot, a cackling pink weirdo. Boy, was I wrong, so wrong about living the life I never got, inside of someone else I didn't know. YukioxRin/OC MephistoxOC Light OCxOC (I don't own Blue Ex.).
1. Chapter 1

1

Wheezing came out of my mouth, heavy coughing filled with viscous fluid. The doctor's told me that this time, they could pump my lungs, but it wasn't going to do any good. They'd just fill back up in a matter of days.

I was terminal.

Cystic Fibrosis was something I'd dealt with my whole life, and I always had it in my head that I'd beat it. That someday they'd come up with a cure, a better type of treatment, and all I had to do was live my life, doing what I wanted, and eventually it'd come along. In the time being, I'd take the three times a year week-long lung pumping, to get the fluid out, as a much needed 'vacation' from elementary school, middle, high, and then on through college.

Not this time.

As I sat in the white-sheeted hospital bed, all I could think about were the times I spent putting myself through an education, all the essays, the worry over grades, and I still wasn't done. I had two more years to complete.

I guess... that wasn't happening.

My family was close, in the hospital somewhere. They had to leave for awhile. They couldn't take the news, and my inability of not wanting to continue they couldn't quite respond to.

On my end, I knew what 'terminal' meant. I'd rather do myself a favor, and let the disease take me than live only one more year struggling through pain, getting my lungs pumped every other day, only to die shortly later.

I'd be in the hospital for a year, unable to do school work, unable to date, to have a life. How was I suppose to do college when I'd be in consistent, increasing pain? Why would I want to consistently be in pain for a year, only to die?

My plan? Write a will. I didn't have a lot, but I had accumulated some money and possessions, and at the end of the week, I'd call it done, and I'd let death naturally take me, when it was supposed to.

Life. Done. It was my time. I accepted.

After thinking about it, after all the work, I wanted nothing more than rest, an eternal one.

"Hallo there."

The sudden surprise of a voice set me to coughing, and I held a kleenex to my mouth, letting yellow fluid envelop it before setting the used tissue to my side, crunched into a ball. My head rolled slowly to the right in my room, and beyond the mesh turquoise curtain was a blurry figure. I rubbed my eyes, and what came into focus was... not what I expected.

My voice cracked, as if I was a 13 year old boy. "Who are you?"

A clown? I had never seen a man wear so much... pink. _Magenta_?

"Mephisto. How do you do?" He bowed.

"Are you gunna ask me if I want a balloon dog?" I erupted in a fit of hacks, so loud I felt they could vibrate off the walls. It was horrible. He was kind and walked over, swishing the mesh curtain aside, and poured me a glass of water. I sipped out of it.

"That isn't gunna help much. But thanks." I took it. "I'm... I'm sorry. My predicament has left me slightly bitter. I didn't mean to offend you."

"He waved his gloved hand like it wasn't a big deal.

"So, I don't want a poodle, I'd rather have a shark."

His voice sounded once again, there was a distinct twinge of 'foreign' in it, at least foreign to America. "How am I supposed to do that?" Was his coy response, he just smiled twisting a finger around his thin jet-black beard.

"With a balloon?" I wheezed out.

He started chuckling, obviously completely bemused by my responses somehow. "What is this fascination with balloons? How perplexing."

I stopped sipping and he took the glass out of my hand kindly for me and sat it on the table next to my bedside.

"Wait. You aren't a clown?"

He laughed louder this time as the bottom of the glass made contact with the table. He stopped stroking his beard, and squished his top hat down some, and swished his cape, and underneath of it put a balled fist on his hip, jutting it out. Quite an exaggerated pose.

"Why! No!" He stood like a proper Renaissance gentleman in an oil portrait, all kingly-looking, chin and nose held in high regard.

Something struck me: "Do you even work for the hospital?"

My heart started pumping, I felt unsafe. His posture, the attire he wore, the way his eyes were so... green. In full daylight he looked goofy, but I twinged at his mystery. His tone of voice felt slippery, beckoned my attention, but put me on edge. My hands raced around my form as fast as they could, weakly searching for the 'nurse button'.

 _Found it!_

Then it jerked out of my hands, literally ripped out of them, like I was hanging from a building on a rope and suddenly let go, I felt the cords smoothly and swiftly go away. It was dangling in his palm above my head, and he was standing over me, slightly bent at the waist, staring at me.

"If you're going to kill me, do it already." I wasn't sure why my mind immediately jumped to that, but it seemed appropriate, seeing what this man just did.

"Tsk tsk." He spoke words that were natural human sounds, swinging the wire like a pendulum for a few more seconds above my head.

Was he teasing me? But then, that was false because he flicked it away and it landed in the armchair next to the table my glass of water sat on beside my bed. Completely. Out. Of. Reach.

"What do you want?" My eyes met his probing ones. Petrified, but also curious as hell.

"Hee, he." Again he turned natural laughing into word. It was... strange. "Cynthia Lynnette Baker... am I right?"

"I nodded, he proceeded to take off his gloves and crack his knuckles, right above my head. It was like he didn't know the definition of a personal bubble, and was completely ignoring mine.

"Could. Could you... cut that out?" I grunted.

He stopped immediately and put his hands on the bed railing. "So, you went to school for chemistry?"

"Yeh, went. I suppose you could say 'I went'." I accepted the usage of past tense. My eyes moved back and forth, and I could feel a slight heat coming to them. It was like he could sense it.

His voice exuded an air of cooing, "Now. Now... What else did you study?"/p

"Why all the questions?" I started to cough badly again, and he handed me a box of kleenexs. I took it. I needed it.

"Soon enough."

I stared through a fit of coughs that made my throat raw and sore. I was kind of angry. How is that answering anything? Exactly what it was: It wasn't. I didn't like playing games.

"You don't have anything to lose by telling a kind stranger what you studied in college... especially since you're in this position... do you?"

"And my question for you is... what do you have to gain from it?"

A deep smirk formed across his lips, and something about it wasn't humorous. It was... dark. As if he got some sort of high out of my response. Those thin lips added to some sort of suave persona, I swore I seen his eyes darken by a shade, and for only a small fraction of a second did I see a quick instance of incredibly white teeth. Then his mouth snapped shut. Quick.

"Mm. You're perfect." He hoisted himself up off of the rails, slowly, cat-like, and began pacing the room slowly, as if strolling in a park and he began to speak, and me, being numb from that response, and from my ailment, had no choice except to sit here and listen to him.

"You see, I know you. I know who you are." He talked with his un-gloved hands, lanky fingers. "I just wanted to confirm. Make sure you were who you are. Come girl, I knew you went to college for Chemistry, I know you studied Demonology... out of self interest." The sides of his mouth kind quirked in slightly, a small twirk of a smile. "I know you graduated 5th in your class in high school. Your father's name is Max, and your mom's name is Sharry. You're late brother's name was Will."

My face felt... red. That was never something I wanted to discuss... with anyone. Ever. He had died, and it destroyed me. My mouth moved the spit around, for some reason my mind wished I could punch the guy. Bite him.

"You played Alice in your elementary play, even though you kicked and screamed because you wanted to be the Mad Hatter."

I snuffed. "You look like the Mad Hatter."

"Why! Thank you!" He swished his cape, a shiny filigree pattern of different shades of pink caught the light, and created different spots of orbs across the room.

Was he just behaving like an adult, and then behaving like a child? Did he have a disco ball for clothing? Was he ever going to take any of my insults seriously?

Rather than snickering, I was appalled! This man... "You're a lunatic! You better not hurt my family! Don't you dar..."

"Shh." He put a chilly pointer finger across my mouth, and I tried to bite him as scared thoughts shot my mind in a thousand directions. He chuckled moving his finger away.

 _Wha? What?! Wa.. was he? Just over there! He! Had I just?! I just seen him, he was just over there! ON the OTHER SIDE!_

I froze. What'd I just see?! Were my eyes telling the truth?! His face, his breath, right next to my cheek. It was unsightly. I tried to leach away, and he let me some.

"oo Sorry. Pastrami on rye! Delicious." His voice was svelte.

How could he be that smooth with breath that bad? It was like he knew what I was thinking. He was good at reading body language.

"So, I have a proposition for you."

I remained silent, he just softly spoke into my ear, sending chills through my spine. The way he laid across my bed reminded me of a sleepover I had had when I was young, when we made a blanket fort, and we all laid around all over each other under it, just rolling around and laughing like idiots.

"Let's be honest... shall we be... Cyn... thia?" Breathy.

I coughed abruptly. My body was freaking out. He just blinked quickly in response, then continued staring at me, even though he was on the side of me, whispering in my ear, I could feel his emerald orbs jamming into my skin, probing the features of my face, looking up and down, back and forth, breathing. Hot.

It was uncomfortable.

"I know your dying Cynthia."

Air came out of my nose.

"You know you're dying."

I suppressed another hacking cough.

"Since I know your life, I know what you truly want... let me make you a deal."

It was all so heated... this conversation. It was the proximity. The closeness. I whispered in response, watching the birds outside my window attempting to mentally escape from this. "You have no idea what I want."

"Oh?" He breathed a quick puff of air from his nose this time and it blew right into the inside of my ear. "Let me tell you then."

I swallowed.

"You don't want to die. You simply don't have an option... a choice. You were met with a decision, but not much of a decision, seeing you know it was futile either way. You chose to give up. Am I right?"

My bottom lip proded out in defiance.

He chuckled at it. "Mm. So... I am right."

"I'm terminal... what the FUCK else do you expect?" My words were ice. This guy was pissing me off, and I was reaching my edge of tolerance.

"Ah. There we go. That firey spirit. It reminds me of someone else. Make sure you keep that. It's useful."

I jerked my head away and turned to face him with a huge scowl. Confused. His eyes looked not surprised at all, they looked heavy.

"What if I tell you it doesn't have to end this week?"

"What are you? Some person with incredible wealth that has a cure that medical science doesn't offer? Why me?" My heart actually leap in hope, only for a second.

"Oh. No."

I grunted and turned away from him again.

"Your disease is natural... and human. The severity of it can't be cured I'm afraid."

Confused. His choice of words, didn't make a lick of sense. He spoke as if he was withholding information, dangling it just above my reach of knowledge, like he had that damn nurse button. Again. The games. I hated it.

"Would you be straight-forward already?" I crossed my eyes, and narrowed my lids, not looking at him, letting him know I was disgusted.

"Okay." I could hear the sound lips make when they smile. "You're body is going to die." He paused. "But your soul won't."

I turned to face his intense, cool look. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"Mm. So mouthy. Yep, you certainly are the one. Supernatural studies in the human world are so vague."

My mouth fell open. "What?!"

He head cricked to the side, and winked. "You heard me... they're vague." He stroked his beard again, and the way his fingers moved through it was atypical. Sort of... sensual. He then snatched up my glass of water and took a huge drink from my glass. My mouth (that I had just been hacking lung fluid out of) had just been on that! "I bet you never learned much about the afterlife." He spoke from inside it. He chugged.

I looked at it. He raised an eyebrow in response and lifted it making a gesture with his palm, as if to ask if I wanted it now.

"No! Ew." _Yuck._ My mind kept teetering. I would start to think this person was malicious, then I he would do something that grossed me out, or annoyed me. Then something would come out of his mouth that'd wipe that away and replace it with some kind of heated feelings of just being in the presence of a half decent-looking, mysterious man.

"So! The after life. Souls! How they're created? Shall we?" Sudden strange German accent. Cartoonish. "Let me tell you what you'll never learn on your own... souls are real." His index finger shot up as-a-matter-of-factly. "And, originally there weren't very many, but they multiply... very much like bodies themselves." He suddenly pinched my cheek.

"OW! Get off!" I threw up an elbow near his face.

"Ooo! Hee hee!" He let go.

"What? This is ridiculous! Are you some religious nutbag er what?"

"Oo ha! Heh!"

I was entertaining him.

"Ahahah. All I've heard from you..." He mimicked my voice in a voice that didn't even sound like me. "'Who are you? Why are you here? What? What. That's dumb.' The question you should be asking is 'How?'"

I bit. "Fine. How?"

"Ah ha! So... souls are naturally occurring, collected masses of energy that allows your body to 'be alive'. With help of the soul, the body can live. Without each other... it isn't impossible, but it is sad. It's a much needed brotherhood, or shall I say sisterhood... bonding."

"Something just occurred to me. "What did you mean by 'human world'?"

"Oh! Assiah! We're in it silly!"

"Are you saying..." My breath caught in my throat. "Hell... exists?"

"Mmm... no?" He stoked his beard on my bed, laying across the bed railing hasn't bothered him at all. "But metaphorically... yes."

Now I was intrigued. This was the best spur-on of intelligent conversation I'd been exposed to since I'd been hospitalized a month ago. I was tired of nurses checking my temperature, doctors asking 'how are you feeling today?', and medical chat. He kept talking. I listened.

"It doesn't matter where the souls are per sey... they still divide at will. They truly are an entity of their own volition. Asexual in reproduction without bodies."

"So, you're telling me that they only genderize once they enter a body and attach to it?"

"Mmm see you get it. And once they exit, they become asexual again, and can split at will again to provide life for whomever. Whenever. And that next body might be a male, female, or whatever. They re-genderize as needed, the body defines it."

"Interesting theory."

"It's not a theory. It's natural truth. That is what happens."

Tch. I made an annoyed sound with my mouth. "I thank you for the lovely conversation, but my theory on you remains the same. NO it's more of a truth. You're a nut. Get out of my room."

"May I counter you on this one?" Like a little girl asking for cookies.

"Whatever." I coughed.

"You can act aloof all you want my dearie dear." His eyes ran over my skin again, I could feel it in my bones. "But as a scholar you should at least accept that there are some people out there in the world that know more than you on certain subjects." he got preachy. "'Educate' is to accept 'learning', and to 'learn' you have to accept you my not have all the 'knowledge'."

He at least made a logical point. I sighed. This guy just wasn't leaving. I had half an urge to holler as loud as I could for a nurse. Speaking of, I hadn't seen a single nurse walk by in the thirty minutes this idiot had been in my room.

That thought... bothersome.

"So, here's my offer." He knew I was irritated. So, he sort of acted like he was ready to sum it up.

I hoped.

I realized I was on this man's time, not on my own.

"Your soul was divided before you were born, to accommodate for the birthing of your body. So, was mine." He put a hand on his chest, and I could again smell that sandwich on his breath.

I inspected the fabric of his clothing, it was all so plush looking. Doll-like.

"So was your father's. The doctors in this hospital, everyone, ever."

"I get it."

"So, it was tough tracking you down needless to say... Your soul's previous conjoined twin, is inside of someone else. And, that person is in trouble."

"Mmmhmm." I just stared out the window again.

"Quite a bad predicament actually... the opposite of this type of disease... it's a coma. Comas trap souls inside very much alive bodies, and the soul then, by force of the body becoming dormant, slowly begins to die out, which really kills any chance the body has at all to 'be alive' again."

"So, who's in a coma?" I poked him on for the hell of it.

"His name?"

I gave him a 'duh' type of look.

"Okumura Rin."

"Okumura hell of a first name.

"Oh... no. He's half Japanese. Okumura is his last name. Rin is his first. In Japan, they say the first name last.v Honorifics and such... customs."

"Cool." Bland. My plan was to bore this pink moron to death to get him out, maybe he'd grow tired of lame conversation.

"He's everything you aren't."

"Gee thanks for the insult Mephisto."

"He smirked because I used his name, if that even was his name. He could of lied, who knows?

"Ah! No. When souls separate, they're usually different, unfortunately for Rin, he gained not too many skills in the 'smarts' department, and I can see now he got more of the 'empathy' side."

"Thanks."

"So, Okumura Rin is in trouble, in a coma. He's been that way for a few months. There's no chance of him returning, his soul is slowly melting away, and shutting off... burning out I should say. In order for him, and his body to restore, to wake, I need your soul."

"Do you?"

"Indeed. Joining the two pieces of a once whole soul inside a single body would be enough power to awaken any body from even the deepest of comas, as long as it happened before the other soul wasn't entirely burnt out. Of course, you'd retain memories of his life, and he'd be apart of you now, or..." He got thought-y, like he honestly kind of didn't understand what'd happen entirely himself. "...you'd be a part of him? Or... you'd be the dominant half, since his soul has deteriorated some, it's be the original soul, not exactly the same whole as it once was before it split for your two bodies."

I just watched him mumble over his words. I had no idea what the hell was going on right now.

"My soul." I coughed practically in his face. He still was lost in thought with those thin lips kind of mumbling under his breath, he didn't notice much. "You want it?"

He suddenly looked at me those trailing orbs, suddenly snapping to the right. A galaxy of green.

"Yes, I do..." He booped me on the nose with a finger.

I groveled. I wasn't a damn dog!

"Fine. Whatever. You're an idiot, and I don't believe in souls. Whatever hack job religious organization that you work for, that forced you into this conversation, whoever put you up to it, make sure you thank them for some afternoon entertainment, because you've proven yourself quite the actor. Now... get the fuck out of my room."

"Oh joy!" He bounced up suddenly like a girl scout selling cookies. "You've just gotta do one thing for me!"

I crunched a fake smile.

He pulled out a throat spray and coated his entire inside of his mouth, like a person would disinfect a kitchen sink.

"No. No. No." I looked around all sudden and quick, as he smacked his lips together like a dog that ate peanut butter. _My god! What?_

I inherently knew what was coming. This man tall, pale, lanky man, thin beard, nice lips, ruined his entire facade with the his sickly mannerisms. And HOLY GOD! The way he dressed. And now... He wants to me give him a smooch!

His head shot irregularly close to my head again. "I... You! Don't." I squirmed.

"Seal this deal with a kiss."

"I knew it!" I spat in his face... almost.

He blinked quickly three times, his lashes long, at my response, like he had expected me to jump in his arms and beg him to take me away with him. My yelp fell in line with my thought process:

"I'm not a damn princess that needs saving! Can't... Can't we just shake on it? And you can get the hell out?"

He got closer. "Afraid not." His voice so strikingly different. Where had the kid inside him gone? His tone was suave, breathy.

 _Manipulative._ That's what this man was.

"If you want a kiss! FINE! Just promise me, you'll get the hell out of here! I'm dying in a week anyway you perv! You want a kiss! I'll make it nice and nasty for you! I've been hacking up lung fluid all day. It's gunky, yellow and vile. How's that?!" I was shouting at the tops of my lungs. _WHY WERE THERE NO NURSES COMING?_

If the guy wanted a kiss, I'd give it to him, just to get him out! It was all I wanted! To be left in peace!

"Oh... trying so hard to make it seem so unappealing. I know what's up your sleeve." He face drew so incredibly close.

I felt white hot. His breath heated against the nape of my neck. Was he smelling me? His fingers came up and turning my chin sharply to the right, suddenly I was looking dead in his green eyes. His lips not even an inch from mine. Breathing.

That sandwich breath was gone and a the half-decent looking perv who dressed like an 80's pimp wanted. This was the WORST HOSPITAL I'd ever ever been in, and it certainly had the SHITTIEST SECURITY I'd EVER seen.

"So. Do it." I said.

His thin lips, they were so close, he closed the gap, but to millimeters. A minty-cinnamon scent transpired outwards across my matching lips, and I sat there just not moving, unable to move rather, he held my chin so tightly. Hot flashes raced across my body. I hadn't kissed in... a few years. I was 19, I hadn't had a boyfriend since high school!

"This ridiculous." I softly whispered resolutely.

"Mm... if you say so." He still hadn't done it. His eyes were open, just staring at me. So, green. Our eyes so wide open and so close it seemed like planets would crash into each other. One very very blue, watery planet, with gray skies, colliding into one very lush green forested planet full of these little yellow flowers. His eyes, even though so green, had itty bitty flecks of yellow in them.

I tasted in the millimeters of air between our mouths... something smoky?

Was he a smoker? Did it matter? Why was I thinking so much? Because I was so... uncomfortable. Was I unwilling suddenly?

"You first." He breathed.

"I'm tired of these games." In that moment my body snapped and I smacked him quick and good, similar to a peck on the cheek a little kiss would give another.

Then he grabbed my chin, turned it sharply, twisting it acutely. I was so hazy from my first kiss in a few years, that I didn't make the connection until he crashed his lips back over mine and enveloped me in the strongest, wildest most sensual kiss I swore I'd ever had. His teasing nips urged me to kiss him longer.

I gave in, and as I did, the longer it lasted, the closer to my body he got.

I felt as if I was in a whirlwind. I opened my lips and we pressed together. His lips were soft, delicate, and each time he began to ever-so-slowly close his lips in and out, he would press back down to deepen it subtly, with just a bit more pressure. It was wet, and his tongue slicked grazed my teeth, and begged for entry. I tasted the smokiness more, and it wasn't unpleasant.

He opened his mouth more, to let my tongue in if I wanted, and I cautiously accepted.

I heard a sound come from his throat, a small feral growl. He smirked as he kissed, apparently liking and enjoying all of it. I could feel it against my mouth.

I was in such a fog, I couldn't imagine my face.

Our eyes closed.

He moved more on top of the bed, over me, now half his body pressing. He let go of my chin, and he put a soft stroke on my bare shoulder, and I instinctively pressed a soft palm on the inside of his cape, against his side, I could feel even though he had a thin physique, he was quite in-shape.

I was lost in this.

Just when I felt myself going over the edge, growing ever blinder in a lustful state, that when something sharp cut my tongue.

It jolted me from him.

And rather than just stopping, he then grabbed my chin again and proceed to force my tongue out of my mouth with his tongue, even though now it was obviously I wanted nothing to do with any of this anymore.

I began to stir, trying to fight it.

His sucked, and licking stopped. He whispered into my mouth, a deadlock on my face. "Aw now. That wasn't bad."

His whole body was heated, I could tell, and he breathed in gasps against me, much like I was.

"Something sharp. Scraped me." Thoughts became words.

"Ahh..." He kissed my wet lips once more, lushly. "It's... bleeding. Jus' a little." He then parted his lips and planted three more firm, long, delicate kisses on my mouth. They were smaller in comparison to before. I could tell he was trying to calm down. "Mm thank you."

"Hmm" I hummed to him.

He bit my bottom lips, and sucked for a brief second forming another kiss.

"For these kisses. And... your soul." He pressed back into me, and lapped his tongue against mine, I could tell he was sucking.

I made a response to jerk away.

He lifted up.

"I'm bleeding you idiot."

"Sorry." He booped me on the nose again like a little animal. "I just can't help myself... sometimes." His eyes rolled, like he was making fun of himself.

I was instantly disgusted once again. _What the fuck did that mean?_

He smiled the biggest smile in that moment that I'd seen him smile the whole time he'd been in my room. A full on, white teeth, model grin, he looked actually kind of bashful? Her laughed and scratched his head, his laughter loud.

I began abruptly scanning the halls as the laughter was nuts! Surely the nurses! Surely!

I looked back, and with his mouth open head to the ceiling, full rolling laughter... I seen: fangs.

 _WHAT?!_ My bloody tongue rolled inside my mouth.

The laughter died out. "Well, I'll be seeing you."

"Wait!"

He stopped just as he was at the door. The silhouette of the side of his face turned, and a green eye looked my way once more. It looked me up and down, hungry. His clothing catching the light again, and that disco ball showed around my room again.

My mouth hung. "Wha... What are you?" I hushed.

 _What'd I just see? Wha. Just. Did I? Was he a...? Whaaa are those... real?_

He smiled again, and I seen a huge fang poke out of the side of his mouth, his bottom lip, pink from the kissing, going just under it, his eye-liner'ed eyes, shallowly lidding.

"You've heard of it, you've heard of us."

I was breathless.

"I'm a crossroads demon."

Then he snapped his fingers.

Gone.

All of him. Gone. Materialized. VANISHED.

"NURSEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I screamed out in absolute horror. I shrieked, absolutely terrified. Chills going through my body, my bones, distinct swarms of fear channeled through every vein that blood coursed through.

One ran in.

"Oh your button! How'd it get over here!" She whizzed around the bedside and picked it dropping it on my bed.

"DID YOU?! DID YOU! Did you see that guyyy!" I pointed to the hall. "DID YOU?!"

"What guy?" How was it she remained so calm. "This is a floor of all female nurses!"

"NOOO!" I wailed. "The visitor!"

"OKAY MISSY! You've had enough morphine for one day! No MORE!" She cinched off an IV.

"NO I had a male visitor! He was tall, he was pale. He had dark hair, green eyes! And he was wearing this ridiculous costume! It was magenta! Almost all of it! Magetna and white! Did you see him?! Did you?!"

The nurse opened another syringe of something. "It's okay! It's okay!" She hollered over my wailing. "You're just hallucinating! It's the lack of oxygen! This was bound to happen! It's okay!"

I felt myself slowly slipping. I started to cough slightly. She was putting me to sleep, and fast.

"No. His name..."

He was here, he had to of been. I looked at the empty glass next to my bed, and seen distinct lip marks on the glass.

His lips.

"He..."

My eyes slowly closed.

"Me... phisto."

 _What the hell had I just done?_


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Unfortunately, I hate to say this... but she's already beginning to see things."

"What do you mean?"

"It's the lack of oxygen. The fluid in her lungs, it's filling, and since she's refusing to accept a lung pump, the more they fill, the less room there is for air."

My mom peered into my room, her dark brown eyes filled with such sadness. I was sleeping peacefully for the time being, on oxygen. She hated hearing bad news.

"So, she's hallucinating?"

"Yes, it's already started. Lack of oxygen, it doesn't just make the body tired, it also can have adverse effects on the brain."

"My little girl." She started to tear. "I just... I just. I never thought it was going to come to this."

The nurse touched her shoulder both looking in the room.

"She's such a fighter. She went on with her life so much like she was healthy."

"She sounds like a brave girl."

My mom nodded slowly, embracing the warm touch of the nurses hand on her shoulder. "Only 19." She reached up and touched it, acknowledging and thanking her for the condolences wordlessly.

"I've never seen a patient have such vivid hallucinations."

"Hmm?" She was interested, even though sad, my mom possessed an interest for knowledge.

"Oh yes, you weren't on the floor a few days ago when it happened."

"What happened?" She was instantly worried, as if she couldn't be more worried already.

"Well..." Suddenly the nurse seemed reluctant. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Instantly firm, my mom stood tall. "If it has anything to do with her physical condition, then... yes. I'm here for her." She paused, her eyes glittering like wet pools, "Until the end, I'm here."

The nurse smiled, and felt better. "It's about her hallucination. I wasn't the one that ran in to calm her, it was Nurse McCoy. I heard Cynthia though. I believe Judy McCoy told you that she had had it but... did she tell you the contents?"

"No." My mom cleared her throat.

"Well, Mrs. Baker... I just... the reason I'm telling you this, is like I said, I've just..." She was obviously astounded. "I just have never heard of a hallucination that was that... vivid."

Silence. They stared into the room, watching a form slowly breathe in and out. It was night and the street lights outside illuminated the room with an orange aura, it was getting close to family-only visitors time.

"I was on a computer sitting in the nurses's station, right there." She pointed to a random computer with a rolling maroon desk chair. It was only about 30 feet away. Another nurse was sitting at it currently typing on the keyboard. "It was like, we heard nothing out of her. For quite some time, we had given her some morphine, and all was quiet. We figured maybe she picked up one of the many books in her room, and had started to read or something, or maybe she was just looking out the window, because it had been a nice day." The nurse's throat hitched, and she gulped some. "It was just... eerily quiet. I mean, usually... we could hear her coughing. But for some reason, for almost 30 minutes, we didn't hear anything from her. Her heart monitors were stable, everything was fine."

"So... did she fall asleep?" Sharry, my mom was confused. Her brows furrowed.

"No."

"Then... what?"

"It was... all of a sudden, it went from intense quiet to all hell breaking loose."

Sharry's mouth slightly dropped.

"Yes. I'm serious." The young nurse read her face, looking at my chest rising and falling, then looking back at my mom's eyes jutting around all over the nurse's face. It was as if she was looking to see if the nurse was telling the truth, looking for some sort of indication that she was lying.

She wasn't.

"Cynthia just screamed..." She whispered, "'Nurseeeee!' Really loud just like that! I'm telling you, all of us panicked. We all shot immediately up from what we were doing and rushed. It was just that McCoy was the closest. Your daughter was screaming at the tops of her lungs. It was like she didn't have cystic fibrosis at all for a second. Healthy screaming."

"What? How?"

"I'm not sure what sort of hallucination would be so real that it would cause her to completely shout like that. How something could scare her that much, that she'd risk yelling out in the condition she's in. It must of pained her so much."

Sharry shook her blonde locks abruptly, in a 'no' type of gesture. "Well..." She just continued on blinking, completely aghast. "Do you have any idea what it was about?"

"Sort of. Judy came out and stated to us that she was asleep, but she took me aside in the hallway and she told me that your daughter literally had scared her so bad that she was trembling."

My mom's brows furrowed in question.

"Judy said that Cynthia was yelling that she had seen a man in her room, and it wasn't just yelling. That girl was petrified. Her face was white, like she'd seen a ghost."

"Well, was anyone there? Had anyone..." She gulped. "Was there any sign of entry, was there anyone on the guest list?"

"No. Not at all. Nobody. Like I said, we hadn't heard anything out of her in about 30 minutes, no coughing, nothing."

"Well, did she at least say what he looked like?"

"Judy, after I went and bought her a soda, and brought it to the break room for her, she told me that the man she described was tall, had a black hair and beard and green eyes. Cynthia had said that he was wearing white... and pink."

"Pink?"

"Yeh, pink."

Sharry just shook her head at it. It was sort of.. "Unbelievable."

"The hard part is, is we do know for sure that it was a hallucination."

"With no forced entry, nobody on the guest list, it has to be." Sharry was resolute.

"Yes, but also, Cynthia shouted at McCoy and pointed to the room's exit, saying 'did you see him?'"

"And you didn't? She didn't?"

"No ma'am." The nurse sucked in a big breath of air, and watched lights from outside, from the neighboring highway flicker across the machines in the room, the bed, the walls, like streams of golden rivers. "Nobody exited."

"That sounds horrible."

"I know. It scared poor Cynthia, as much as she's now pretending that it didn't as much. That's why we have her on oxygen. McCoy called for a spare to be sent up. Since we've hooked her up, even though her lungs are still filling, at least more oxygen can be present in her blood and brain, and we haven't had a delirious moment since."

"Did she mention anything else? I mean... about the hallucination?"

"Uhmm." The Nurse Brewster moved her eyes around trying to remember. "Oh. Yes. I didn't forget this part, I just couldn't quite remember..."

"What?"

"Well, Judy said that towards the end, as she was injecting Cynthia's IV with something that'd make her sleep for a bit, that she said a name. But, Judy, she said she didn't quite catch it because she was so focused on getting the injection into the IV at an even pace. She said it was something like... uh... from what I remember her saying... Phyllo... Phyllis... Festo? I'm not quite sure."

"Well." My mom's eyebrows raised. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Hallucinations never do. They're a lot like dreams, but instead of the body being asleep, you're awake."

"Well, thank you." She smiled. "I'm going to go in for awhile and just sit and read."

"Maybe being in there for will be comforting to her, you're her mom, I'm sure she can feel your presence even if she's dozing." The nurse winked at her, trying to lighten the mood now. She all in all, was a good human being.

She nodded and walked in and the nurse shut the door behind her for privacy. It was late, and family could sleep over night if they wanted. Nurse Brewster figured Mrs. Baker would like some time alone to be with her daughter.

* * *

"Hey. Mom." My voice was weak. I had just woken up and my room was so dark. The machines were making noises and had a bunch of different bulbs all over them, but among the shadows I could see my mom's delicate, petite body, hunched over in the chair to my right, a book was laying on the floor.

She stirred.

"Mom..." I said a bit louder.

"Hmm?" She cracked her eyes open, that I could see. "Oh, you're awake."

"Yeh. Uhh." I coughed. "What time is it?"

"Mom took in a big breath and forced it out through her nose, she was a grumble butt whenever she first arose from sleeping. I smiled at it, I'll always remember that about her. Part of being home was listening to her moan about making coffee. She wasn't a morning person, honestly neither was I.

She pulled out her iPhone and it instantly lit up, making the room suddenly brighter. I groaned, my eyes got sore.

"It's about 3 am. I..." She bent down and picked the book up off of the floor. "I must of sacked out."

"Are you stayin' tonight?" I mumbled, still covering my eyes with my left hand.

"You want me to?"

"I chuckled, "Only if you want." Then hacked for a second, patting a tissue to my mouth then balling it.

My mom held out her hand and I put the half-wet tissue in it, and she threw it away for me. I crunched my nose. "That's gross mom."

She just chuckled. "I don't know how you remain in such a humorous mood."

"Just with you and dad."

The darkness in the room enveloped us again as the screen on her phone darkened.

"Are you saying you've been mean to the nurses?" I heard her chuckle and grab my hand and squeeze it. I squeezed back.

"Nah. I just hate it here."

"Can't say I blame you. Do you want anything else from home? I can bring it to you." She heard me huff. "Cynthia dear, I know you don't like being waited on, but please. Let me."

"Mm.." I was running through things in my head. "Maybe some of those popsicles I like."

"Which ones, the orange sherbet ones or the raspberry ones?"

"Mm, the orange ones." I started hacking up fluid again. My mom assisted me by handing me a box of tissues in the dark. "Thanks."

It was quiet for awhile afterwards. It seemed like it cold of been 20 minutes, just sitting and being in the dark like that. I could tell my mom was working herself up to try and ask something of me. When she was tense she would run her bottom lip through her teeth, and I could hear the tissue sort of 'grind'.

"Cynthia, the nurses told me you had a hallucination... a few days ago."

"My face got hot instantly. In the dark my mother would never see the blushing, but the heat spread across my face like turning on a gas stove top, fast. I kind of squeaked out a response: "Oh?"

"Yes. They said you seen a man?"

I moved the spit around in my mouth, my lips moving back and forth in a disgruntled sort of manner. I wasn't sure what to think myself. McCoy, as I had come to know her name, had came in the following past days saying that what I had seen was a hallucination. That 'he' wasn't real. That those Halloween clothes made purely of pink and white plush weren't real, so that their texture (which I seen with my own eyes), was false. _False? Really?_

"Yeh. I did."

"And, were you scared?"

His face, sort of boyish, sort of not boyish. I went back on my memory:

He spoke like he was older, but yet he acted like such an idiot. He wasn't awful looking. He had a long physique, a chin strap, and a beard that was gelled to be pointed on the chin. Aside from his clothing, my first impression was that he was a clown. But, he wasn't wearing full face makeup or a rubber nose, he seemed confused when I called him one. He was wearing eyeliner, heavy eyeliner. Like someone who was Emo, listened to Gothic music, not that there was a problem with that, I, in fact thought that the black eyeliner suited his personality.

I'd had a few days to think about it.

As far as his mannerisms though?

"Yes and no." Simple response.

"What does that mean?"

I didn't go into great depth. Half of me still believed it was real, but over the past few days, half of me had gotten logical. I was debunking it, trying to rationalize it all. Plus, even though he acted like he knew my family, almost like he was an old family friend or something, and my mind had triggered an automatic jump response: 'you leave them alone!', my newly found half rational side was ruling it all out.

"He wasn't frightening physically. Just some of his sayings were odd."

"What'd he say to you?"

 _Many things._ He said so many things. Souls. He was a demon. About someone who was dying somewhere else in the world. So many crazy things.

"Well, I think my studies in Demonology really contributed to it."

"What d'you mean?"

I laughed, then coughed. My mom was so quick in response. "Why are you so interested mom?"

"Well, I love you..." I could hear her mumbled, yawning. I could tell she was thinking. "I just. I don't understand hallucinations. I've never had one. I feel so sorry for you."

"Ah." I squeezed my mom's hand. "Mom. It's okay. I'm just slowly trying to talk myself into believing it's not real." I felt a quick rush of oxygen filter into my nose. "Ughh, this oxygen."

"Feels weird?"

"Yeh. It does. Imagine breathing through two straws, that's what it feels like."

"Mm, I think the one they have in here, is a spare."

"Figures."

Mom chuckled.

"Well, the Nurse McCoy said that the guy's name was Phyllo."

"What? HAH! ha." I coughed. "No. Mom. Phyllo... or maybe Phylo, with one L, is a type of pastry dough."

"So it wasn't?"

"No..." I swallowed some gunk. "It was Mephisto."

"Hmm, weird."

"Yeh, he was weird alright. He said he was a demon."

"Oh yeh?" My mom winced as she stood.

"Yeh... I told you, those studies. I never should of taken Demonology... especially after having that... episode."

"I never understood why you did in the first place." She sighed. If the lights were on, I knew she'd be rolling her eyes. Typical Mrs. Baker.

"I don't know what my obsession was with it either. At first, I just needed the my aesthetic mode filled for my liberal arts section, and with the limited amount of classes still available, I had to choose something to fill that spot the second semester of last year. It was either I chose from three different classes still available for my aesthetic mode, or I could choose to fulfill my government mode, which only one class was available for."

"I know all that, but what made you stick with it? It just all seems so.. gruesome."

"Oh, not really. The way I looked at it..." I hacked again. "Was...(cough, tissue), that demons were just people with weird names. That's how I got through it. I thought of the demons and all their special powers like Greek Gods or something. It was like learning about the history and lineage of super heroes kind of. Much better than government. So I took Demonology 2 and 3 also. I needed three aesthetic credits, just stick with something I'd already been studying. Makes managing two bachelor's easier."

"So, this Mephisto guy, he better not bother you while I'm out fetching you some popsicles. Right?"

"Mom." I squeezed her hand. "It was just a dream, sort of."

"Hallucination."

Mephisto. My mind. The logical side deemed it not. The medical side said 'this is fake'. What was it that was holding me to it being a reality?

"Yes, hallucination." I squeaked to her from behind a cough.

"Are you okay?"

I knew what my mom meant. She wasn't asking me if I was physically okay. I was sick, had been all my life, she knew that. She was asking if I was okay. Me. I found my brain, my thoughts, swarming with intensity. Was I okay? Really... was I?

The thing that was holding me to it being real: were those kisses.

So... ?

I had no word. Nothing could define it.

My could feel my lips tingling in response of memory. No. Fake memory. Illusion. A being produced in the light of day solely by my mind.

But, weren't dreams supposed to be connected somehow to the subconscious? To indicate something? Dreams show you things, there's even books written on dream theory of the subconscious mind. How is it that my mind somehow came up with a pale man, black hair and beard, a chin strap, lanky but fit, boyish, but not. And those green eyes, with the yellow specks. He wasn't anywhere close to any guy I've thought was attractive. I don't listen to any bands that have a lead singer, guitarist or musician that looks like that. Certainly doesn't dress like that. I got the 'Demonology" aspect of it, that made sense, that my mind would connect with past studies to elicit that in a hallucination, but it was his image.

It was the touch.

A hallucination. That was the last kiss I've ever receive. And it wasn't just a kiss, we made out!

My body was flashing, and white hot all the way through. My heart monitor had sped up a bit.

"Cynthia?"

"I'm okay." I immediately said, snapping back, not meanly, but with a monotone.

I was on fire. _WHEW! Talk about going out with a bang!_

I breathed in deep, and let the oxygen slowly roll out of my mouth. I winced in the pain of it. My heart monitor started to calm. I realized my mom had just been standing there staring at me, and she had already gathered her things.

"Well, hun." She pecked me a kiss on the head.

"Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Where are you going?"

"Home. Popsicles?"

"No, no. Mom..." I grasped her hand. "Stay."

I could hear her smiling even though I couldn't quite see her clearly in the dark.

Then a stroke of genius came to me. I was thinking... about a certain 'experience' from the hallucination:

"Hey, mom. When you leave to go get my popsicles tomorrow, can you get me something else to?"

"Sure... whatever you need." She just liked making herself useful in this situation.

Since I couldn't decide fully whether Mephisto had been real, I was split fairly evenly down the middle on it, I had a plan, a plan to debunk it. If anything, I'd keep me busy and thinking while I spent my last few days in the hospital. One last thing, to keep this mind of mine busy before I go.

"Can you grab me my notebook from home, and my pen?"

"Of course." She stood. "I'm going to the bathroom, and getting a pillow, blanket and a soda, I'll be back in about 20 minutes." I seen the door open on the other side of the room, and just before it closed, she hushed: "I love you."

It was bright, and she was gone. I was alone.

* * *

He sat idly in the corner. Drinking a cup of tea.

"Hmm. 'She didn't physically dislike, but some things I said were weird.' Hee hee!" Mephisto took another sip. "Well... I'm quite a tease my dear."

He had been sitting invisibly and quietly inside a self-created sound bubble in her room for nearly 15 minutes, and caught a portion of the conversation with her mom. It had been boring for him.

Once he finished his tea, sitting his cup down, he snapped his fingers. The whole tray and it's cups, wafers, and contents... gone. He watched her mumble from across the room, by herself, in the dark, while her mom was away.

"Oh boy!" Mephisto was adamant about listening, he wanted to know what she was fumming-on about while her parent-figure was not present. He walked over and swished his cape aside, he was as close as her mom had just been.

"Mm, damn it." I mumbled.

Mephisto. Invisible, within a sound-barrier, smirked.

I rubbed my eyes. "Ugh. I wish I could stand. This sucks. Uh, ow." I began massaging my sore knees with my hands.

He looked her down, from her head all the way to my toes, which stuck out of the blanket.

He yawned, waving his mouth.

"Err. Mm, damn Mephisto."

He spoke inside the sound barrier. "Damn me what?" He mocked like little boy getting ready to throw a rock, finishing his yawn. The magenta on his robes looked black in the darkness of the room, the white, sort of an ashen light blue.

"No fair."

He cocked his head to the side and listened, fingers in his beard, swirling.

"Too bad you aren't real. I'd of showed you what I was made of, if I was healthy."

"Oh, is that so?" He hushed suavely. He chuckled in a distinct smooth, throaty way. He knew she couldn't hear him anyway, he spoke however he wanted.

My mind was focused on a fake scenario going on in my head of how I would of gotten out of my hospital bed and physically smacked him down. Surely I couldn't of whipped his ass, he was physically much bigger than me, but, I would of taken on the 'demon'. If he was real, but he wasn't?

Mephisto moved closer. Obviously his mind had taken a different route with that statement. He leaned in, so close to her face. "How would you..." He smiled grandly, letting his fangs show. Entertained. "of showed me... mm?" He knew his breathing she couldn't feel.

I just chuckled to myself inadvertently. I didn't mean to, the thought of kicking his ass, sort of made me happy.

"I have an overactive imagination." I was outwardly referring to all the thoughts in my mind of punching him in the face.

"Ohhhh!" He twisted his beard some more, moving closer, he was almost so close he could feel her breath. His sound bubble was only a protective barrier for himself, and his senses, but the outside, all the senses of taste, touch, feel, smell and sight permeated the bubble still. He could smell the room, feel her breath, he could taste the staleness in the air of the room. "Imagination... I do like that." His mind was 'in the gutter'.

"I would of hurt you..."

He began to act. "Well!" He swished his cape to the side and did a classic hand on the hip, spinning to fake cold shoulder her. "If I ever hear you say that again Janet! Well I'll... I'll..." He spun back around on the tips of his toes. He had gotten what she was getting at now, but he still pretended it was the other way (the way his mind took it) for giggles. He winked and spoke heatedly. "I'll just have to hurt you right back..."

He came to whispers, close to her ear. "Tell me..." He breathed into it. "How?" He smirked. He had such an urge to lick. "How would you land a punch... on a demon?"

I began feeling a weird feeling. Somehow, in some way. I felt uneasy. It wasn't my stomach hurting, or my legs or knees, it was some sort of tingle that went up my spine. It abruptly appeared. I sat up, tense.

"Hm?" Mephisto pulled back suddenly.

I took in as much oxygen as I could and let it out, trying to contain a cough. "All this, it's okay Cynthia. It's alright." I gave myself a hug.

"Ahh. So cute!" He extended a finger out to touch the tip of her nose, but stopped himself just inches before her face. For he was a demon, so he could see in the dark, and he knew exactly his position in the room, but he knew that she didn't know her own, he knew she couldn't see, her actions were slightly over-exaggerated, characteristic of someone without a light to see. She could bump into him, and since outside touch could get in, but his touch couldn't get out, he reeled his finger back.

I began talking to myself. Talking out, as if I was speaking to another. I wasn't, I was just alone, and awake enough to face reality. "I'm scared." I swallowed. "I've come to terms. I'm dying. I get it. It sucks. I wish I wasn't."

Mephisto remembered the conversation from a few days before. "So, I was right mm?"

"I just wasn't ready to go. William just passed, not even that long ago. I didn't think it was time for my parent's to lose their second kid. They took Will's death harsh enough, and now here I sit on my death bed. I just wish, there was something I could do."

"Mm, that's death." Mephisto commented. "It comes... when it comes."

"They're in debt. All these bills, I know they hide them. But they're in debt up to their eyeballs. I'm just so sad that they spent their whole lives paying for me, and then my brother, the accident. It was devastating. He was in ER for weeks. My parents might think I don't know where they hide the medical bills, but I do. Between his ER stay, the ambulance ride, the medicines and fluids, the funeral. I..." I started to tear up. "$30,000 dollars."

Mephisto didn't say anything, he wasn't moving at all, just staring with those probing green eyes.

"If anything, if anything at all matters in this world, I know me dying will never cure the money issues they are having, that they are in the middle of. But please, God..."

Mephisto huffed out of his nose.

"God... resolve their debt. Do it. Somehow. Let them go on, not stuck paying for their dead children's medical bills for the next 10 years."

"I can't, I can't... bear to leave here until... I know it's done."

"Eh." Mephisto grumbled. He wasn't here for a sob story. He had showed up to check up on a soul contract, as all Crossroaders did. Just seeing how things were 'turning out'. He put his hands on his hips. This could be bad. "You're going to be quite temperamental aren't you?" He wagged his finger.

I sat on my bed in complete silence.

Mephisto was mulling around in his mind, his lids shifting in and out in thought.

"Damn it to hell." I balled a fist and weakly punched the bed. "Fuck!"

Mephisto's eyes popped open wide, and his mouth frowned on one end. "Mm..."

Just then the door opened, and his head snapped up. Cynthia's head shot to the left.

"Were you talking?" My mom plainly said, coming close to the same side of the bed again.

"To myself." I answered.

"Whoospy! Time for my exit." He space was getting smaller as the mom approached. "Eins. Zwei. Drei." He snapped, and he disappeared with a smirk.


	3. Chapter 3

3

"Alright Cynthia, I've got your popsicles."

I coughed really loudly when she entered.

"Oh! I didn't mean to surprise you."

I waved my hand in a 'don't worry about it' type of way as I continued to cough.

My mom brought in a grocery bag, and opened it, taking out a brand new package of orange popsicles and put them in the mini fridge in the room. She got one out and unwrapped it, handing it to me.

The wheezing calmed down, and I grasped it. I roughly spoke. "Thanks, my throat is killin' me today."

"I'm gunna go in the hall and talk with the nurses okay?"

I nodded, digging through another plastic bag that she had sat on my bed. It contained the my notebook and pen that I had asked for. Sucking on the popsicle was making my throat feel better. My smile, covered by an icy treat, was one that spoke of deviance.

The pen snapped and I began listing all of my assets on the pages, writing who gets what. My will.

1.) My car, which I had my brother as the T.O.D. (the person that gets the car upon death), that will now go to my mom. My original plan was that my brother would get it (seeing as I had a serious disease and all), but he had been the one to pass away first. I hadn't changed my T.O.D. benefactor. I left instructions for my mom to sell it, because it would help cover medical debt, that I knew she and dad were in.

2.) Next my television would go to my friend Elliot, also the stereo system that I had bought a few years ago, I went on making a joke in my notebook about the stereo system, and how he had convinced me to get it so we could play video games on it, to amplify the sound, but we only got a little use out of it before we both parted ways and went to different colleges. It just sat un-used in my living room at my apartment.

3.) All of my furniture was going to my dad.

My mom and dad were split. Even though I referred to them as 'mom and dad', it wasn't. They lived in the same household, but they had been legally separated for some time. They did share the concept about the medical bills, that they at least should be split evenly down the middle. Dad would pay half, mom would pay half.

The furniture was so dad could get back on his feet, and use it to either sell, or use to furnish a new apartment. I liked my dad, even though it was his infidelity that ended my parent's marriage. I still didn't want him to struggle and be without things all because he was getting laid off at his job. He had planned to move out a few months ago, but it never happened. I knew he didn't have any money right now of his own. Again, the medical bills were taking all he had.

4.) Next I requested that my mom take my cat. (and not give him to a pound).

5.) I left several hundred dollars of worth of jewelry to grandma, seeing as a lot of the more heirloom items she had given me anyway.

I didn't have a lot in my bank accounts, I, in fact, was a poor, broke college student. I didn't have a job. I did receive government help and money for having such a bad illness, but I spent it on food, books, and commute to school, as well as rent for my apartment. What I did have, I was using for something special.

I listed as many things as I possibly could. Sometimes I got rather specific, sometimes, I just simply listed who I wanted it to go to. Some of the things were sentimental in value that I was giving away, some of it was worth some money. Sometimes, I listed out only one thing, and sometimes I listed a series of items.

Now it was almost the end, and I was on my last bullet point.

I had kept 'the best for last'.

Coughing, my popsicle long gone, it seemed like I had been writing for nearly 40 minutes. The stick just laid on the bed spread, looking like a hospital tongue depressor that had been dyed.

My room was quiet. The door was closed, the window open, but I was stories up from the ground floor, so, nobody would hear me talking out loud. I didn't want the nurses thinking I was nuts, at least, not nuts enough, just yet.

I had had a hallucination this morning... after mom left. I was seeing a rainbow in my room, and below the rainbow, the tiles on the floor had turned into an oily looking mess. The whole floor of tile looking like water. It wasn't alarming, because it was just a rainbow, but if this was what hallucinating was like... then, _what was 3 days ago?_

I was still on the fence. And seeing a separate, and very different, second hallucination in comparison to my first very vivid (cough, heated) hallucination, I finally had something to compare the first hallucination to.

I hadn't spoken of the rainbow to the nurses. I just said I was fine. I lied. I wanted to think about it, I didn't want them to put me on a higher dosage of some sort of drug, to amplify the oxygen intake, I just wanted everything medically to remain the same. Just for a while longer. So I could think.

No character was involved in the second one. It was just like a mirage. Colors changing in front of my eyes, and I didn't feel anything. It wasn't like the rainbow had breathed on me the way that 'demon' had done.

Chills went coursing through my stomach, resulting in making me cough a low, murmuring cough. He had whispered, inside of my ear. His hot breath. Then he turned my chin, he had touched me. I felt his fingertips. I felt the heat between his lips and mine, I could taste his breath, with that hint of smokiness.

I was shaking my head left and right unintentionally as I just thought about it. I wanted so desperately to believe that the first hallucination was a hallucination, the guy had violated my space, tested my patience, and said some weird stuff. I had yelled. But, as I seen the second hallucination, which was nothing in comparison to the first, I was... finding myself leaning more towards the idea that: _Mephisto was real_.

That he had been in here. Near me.

 _Alive._

I found myself wanting to have more hallucinations in order to have more comparative devices/modes. But, I couldn't just make them happen. I had to sit still and wait it out. Also, my mom, there was no way for her to understand. The nurses, how were they supposed to see what I seen through my eyes? What I touched, and in return, getting touched? The kissing, it was real to me, because it happened to me, and to me alone, even if they they refuted it as medical science.

Also, I never told them about the kissing. Not the nurses, my mom, my dad who had been in earlier.

In the time being, in my current state, I did what I had to do. What I felt I needed to do, what I convinced myself to do, in order to settle what was mulling around in my mind. So, I grabbed the pen again that I had left in the seam of the open notebook on my lap, speaking slowly as I wrote:

"146.) I want to leave my prized collection of DVD seasons, all of them are alphabetized inside of my entertainment center at my apartment, my white dove pendant necklace, knowingly worth $300, the fund of $200 which is left in my bank account ending in 8986, at First City International, my handheld DS game system, worth $200 at this point, and my favorite book: The Great Gatsby, to my friend: Rin Okumura.

I smirked very deeply as I continued to speak out loud.

"In Japanese, the first name goes last, so over there, his name is pronounced 'Okumura Rin'."

I used Mephisto's words. Now to make it more legitimate. Time to lie:

"He was a beloved pen-pal of mine from Japan, whom I met playing an online game."

That made sense, my parent's knew I played multi-player games online on occasion.

"We became very close friends simply through writing emails, and writing letters to each other during college. He knew I was sick with a serious disease, and he unfortunately, as I was told by some of my other online friends, is in the hospital as well. In a coma. I don't have much information on which hospital he is in, or even information to contact his family in regards to him. However, I do know my friends said that at this point he's been hospitalized a couple of months, maybe nearing 3."

That was all I knew..

"It is my wish that he receives these items, totaling more than $1000, and I know it is difficult tracking down a friend, especially when he is hospitalized, but he and I always spoke of meeting someday for fun, and he was always so interested in American TV shows. We would always share so much with each other about each other's cultures. Also, I'm leaving some things of sentimental value with him, just because of my soon-to-be passing, as when he wakes from his coma, I'd like something for him to remember me by."

It was a grand lie.

"Inside of the box to be shipped to him, I want the note included: 'Hello, It's from me. -CyntiasMech9', If Rin Okumura is not located and these items distributed, I wish they get put inside of a lock-box at First City International, and kept for two years in storage there, until my cousin Ben is 12, then he can have these things, if Rin Okumura doesn't claim them, seeing as Rin might not wake from his coma."

I had just enough money sat aside, I had orchestrated this perfectly. Plus, Ben wouldn't be a bad person to give all this too anyway. I had already given Ben quite a few things listed in my will already.

I looked up on my phone a law office that dealt in foreign affairs, namely will assets that go to family overseas in Asia, mostly Japan, the lower Chinese provinces and Hong Kong. They apparently did a very good job at finding lost friends and family overseas, whose dead relatives' assets they'd distribute, and I wrote down their information.

The Law Offices of Sing, Mitzumi, 39089 13th, Philadelphia, PA.

I had already called and had the funds transferred.

When I die, if I wake up... somewhere else. _Maybe. Just maybe._

My note. My stuff. My gamer-tag.

I'd then know...

It was real.

If I woke up... and I didn't have the stuff.

First City International Bank. I'd call... Then I'd know.

It was real.

If not?

Ben.

And...

I was dead.

* * *

Mephisto grumbled, sighing hugely at his desk.

He was lounging in his pink and white, harajuku girls satin robe, his fuzzy pink slippers propped up on his desk, reading some sort of paperwork, looking so different in lounge-wear than his normal attire: the white suit, balloon pants, tights, and top hat. Treating himself today, on his 'down time', he didn't just take it casual, he took it down to underwear casual. The only thing covering his boxers was that robe he was wearing.

"Mm, yes." He pulled a green leaflet out of the papers that were strewn all over the top of his mahogany desk, scratching his head, being weary not to disturb the curly-Q hair fashion barrette that he pinned on the top of his head everyday.

Plenty of commoners thought it was just his hair, gelled up into a strange, curl shape, but it wasn't. It was simply a part of his 'persona'. He enjoyed wearing it, he thought it really complimented his outfit, especially when he took his top hat off, which was actually, quite seldom.

His hair was cut in a long, whispy manner, where the front feathered around his face, and the longest razored part hung nearly to his chin. That was a popular look as well. Nearly everything he did, every look he wore, it was the tip-top of fashion in Japan. He made sure of it, it was his thing.

His pale features crunched in on his face, setting the papers down. He touched a button.

"Miska-san."

A voice answered. "Hai, Pheles-sama?"

He spoke in clear and concise Japanese, he wetted his lips, and breathed out a sigh. "Nanika dekimasu ka?" (Can you do something?)

"Hai Pheles-sama. Nandemo." (Anything.) The voice was scratchy coming through the multi-line telephone system.

"Watashi ga shitte iru otoko..." (A man I know...) Mephisto moved. His legs fell from the desk, his slippered feet hitting the floor. He stood with a lengthy stretch, growling a bit from it, yawning, fanning his mouth, straightening his robe. "Miyaki Haru. Kare ni denwa." (Call him).

"Hai. Soshite?" (And?)

"Kare ni tsutaete..." (Tell him... ) The demon spoke in short bursts, tired, but also thinking. "Ichiban.) Saki ni iku." (Number 1.) Go ahead.)

"Hoka ni nanika?" (Anything else?) Her voice was firm, but also young. His intern, associate rather.

"Hai Miska-san. Kare ni tsutaete," (Tell him,) He paused.

After awhile, she spoke:

"Pheles-sama?"

"Oh." Mephisto had been simply staring out the window, high above the courtyard of True Cross Academy, in the top penthouse of "The Federal", a building, aside from dealing with financials, that he also used as his office and residence.

He had forgotten for a brief second, consumed entirely by his own thoughts. "Ni.) Kare ni tsutaete, dekimashita." (2.) Tell him, I am done.)

He blinked rapidly, like how somebody does when an eyelash falls into your eyes. But it wasn't, it was in disgust. His plan... it had failed.

His plans... barely fail. 99% success rate in his books... his eyes jotted around the courtyard, looking at moving dots of students, like ants.

"Akirakadesu." (It's obvious.)

"Nani, Pheles-sama?" (What?)

Mephisto sucked in a giant breath of air letting it out slowly.

"Miska-san. Kare ni tsutaete... Miyaki Haru: Kensaku. Dekimashita." (Tell him... Miyaki Haru: The search. I am done.)

"Oh." She knew who it was now. "Pheles-sama. Honkidesu ka?" (Are you sure?)

He smirked, still letting the brightest of mid-day warm his face and bare chest from the window. He now watched the birds flying around. He had hired her, knowing that he'd have to tell her some of what he was doing, that she'd come to know some of his deepest, closest...

"Hai. Nazenara... sugu ni, watashi wa atarashi mondai o kakaete imasu." (Yes. Because... soon, I will have new matters to afford.)

He snuffed, not as if he was going to cry, but something else: Acceptance.

"Hai. Mondainai." (No problem.) The stirring sound of the phone intercom clicked off.

He remained still at the the window.

In a whisper, his bit his bottom lip, talking to nobody... except himself.

He wished he could of been talking to someone specific, that they could be listening to him right now. He would give anything for that, but that chance was never given to him.

So many phases. It had went from sheer bliss and ignorance, to confusion, to anger, then now... to understanding. Acceptance of...

What... wasn't.

"Doshite... Naze uso?" (Why... Why the lies?) He breathed in. Breathed out. "Watashi..." (I...) He wetted his lips again.

For so long he had longed for the day. That day that Miyaki Haru would call him. Tell him.

So much money, on such a wasted effort.

He'd never face that face again.

And just as always, like everything else, he was left to deal even with this... alone.

There was a deep anger inside, a boil of contempt, but that was now only a simmer compared to years ago.

He understood one thing about it now: That he'd been lied to.

It was the only explanation.

"Wa...tashi." (I...) He put his hand over his eyes, and ran it down his face in an expression of exhaustion. So many years. "Akirameru. Saigo ni." (I give up. Finally.)

The search, the long, unfruitful search, was over. No more money funneled into it.

He knew what it meant. The 'idea' that he'd find him, somehow, then to imprison him, to do whatever he wanted... which was mostly to question him. He knew putting an end to it all, meant finally facing it, something specific, that he attempted to let money and selfishness cover over, to smooth over for years.

He was tired of putting off the truth. His truth.

Giving up... meant finally... letting go.

"Akirakadesu." (It's obvious.) He sighed. His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes looked blurry. "It wasn't meant to be."


	4. Chapter 4

4

I requested that my body be buried next to my brother's, next to William. It was where I felt that I belonged, that my short life here was so congruent with how my brother had gone. We were similar, even with our quick deaths. People even mistook us for twins while we 'were' still alive.

I was referring to myself in the past tense, in the 'expired' tense.

My brother and I, had had the same nose, the same highlights in our hair, those ones that come out only in the summer months while you're swimming outside.

Both of us... us kids. Gone at such a young age. I opted for the same gravestone, a black one with my portrait on the front.

The worst was planning my own funeral.

Never would my family follow through with my list of agendas; I had wanted to stay in positive spirits. So jokingly, I wrote on a piece of paper my desires when my mom asked.

I'm sure she was probably thinking simple stuff like 'play this song' or 'may I please have white roses on the tables'. But instead it was more like:

1.) I want a mile long salad bar with 4 flavors of ranch dressing lined up. Each person with a ticket gets a free lunch.

2.) I want 10 firefighters all in speedos carrying my coffin into the funeral home.

3.) I want my coffin spray-painted in glow in the dark paint, so I can think of my body like it's a piece of radioactive material.

4.) I want to be buried with vampire fangs in my mouth, so during open casket people will think I'm turning.

5.) I want to be transported in a bright yellow Lamborghini to the gravesite, and I want my arrival announced with the theme song to Game of Thrones.

6.) I want have my coffin filled with as many bags of White Cheddar Cheezits as you can manage, I want everyone to look in and think 'man she really loved Cheezits'.

There is no way that someone could stay in good humor with someone dying.

But my mom.

She cried when she read it... when it had been over-dramatized to make her laugh.

She had a meltdown. It was getting close to the end of the week, and my time was getting closer. I should of known that something silly like that would make her burst into tears. I should of known that it would be a reminder to her of my attitude, my personality. That paper with all those dumb requests, it was something that reminded her of me and only me.

I should of known... It'd hit her hard.

She'd been gone for nearly an hour by the time he showed up.

Elliot.

And thank God he had, I'd been feeling rather down after what I felt had done to my mom. I knew it was a natural response, but I still felt responsible.

He had flown in that morning, bearing gifts of donuts.

At this point, I could whisper but that was all I could do. My chest felt so heavy and full.

He's managed to figure out a way to get the railing off the right side of the bed so he could sit in it with me and he was holding my right hand. His grip felt so warm and comforting. Perhaps in a different life, I would of dated him. But, we were just too different.

"I looked into that information for you. I did it on the plane."

"Good. Consider it one last request since I'm giving you my stereo system." Currently the wall in front of me was morphing it's shape; strange, because it looked like it was dancing. My eyes were seeing things that were off every hour or two.

"Seriously. Shut up." He mocked, smiling at me. He knew the inevitable was coming, but he still would always smile that rubbish smile, and be strong. He was a stronger person more so than my own family, always had been. "Where's your mom?"

"She's downstairs somewhere. She's upset." My voice was small.

"Okay good. I know you said you didn't want her to know what you emailed. Wait." He corrected himself. "Not good that she's upset, that's not what I..." He looked me in the eye just to clarify. "Yeh."

I nodded. I know. I know. I waved it off.

He opened his macbook on his lap, and the screen pulled up immediately to what he had been on: JSTOR; a college based, essay and published documents website used by college students to find sources for paper writing.

"I know your throat hurts. If you want to interject just squeeze my hand."

"Okay. I would of looked this up myself on my iphone, but I shut my service off... obviously I don't need it anymore."

"How'd you email me?"

"I did it before I shut my phone service off. I just was feeling too tired, you know? I wanted to just send the email and get my service shut off and taken care of. Leave the rest to you. Plus my mom had to go do it anyway, I can't leave the hospital to go down to Verizon."

"Oh okay." He cleared his throat, and lowered his voice to a whisper to match mine. "Listen. I don't want to believe it." He breathed in and out. "But somehow, I don't know... I've always been into this stuff." He spoke with his right free hand. "You know... the paranormal. I took a class on Mythics."

"Why were we always the weird kids?" I pinched his side.

He squirmed. "Stop!" A giggle.

I pulled away with a smirk. _Oh yeh. In another life. For sure._

"I don't know. But you came to the right person." He chuckled through the sentence. He used his free hand to navigate the web pages, pushing his thick glasses up on the bridge of his nose. His lips barely parted, beginning to read out of a highly esteemed article written only a few years ago by a published PhD in Boston. "Okay. I'm going to read what I highlighted."

He began.

"Mephisto, a demon of literature published in the 18th Century, is highly categorized to be one of the most popular fictional writings of the time. It recounts the demon taking part in the life of Faustus, and his fall into sin. Mephisto is shortened version of the longer name Mephistopheles. A demon of German folklore originally."

I squeezed his hand and he seemed surprised that I had so suddenly, so quickly. He stopped. There were plenty more purple highlights to read. He always highlighted on his MacBook in purple.

My face went red and my heart beat on the monitor quickened a little.

"What's the matter? I haven't even started."

"Deja vu."

"Hm?" He pushed up on his glasses again, his blonde hair shaggy, swept behind an ear to get the bangs out of his face. He wanted to look on my expression better.

"German folklore?" I whispered, throat scratchy. "I've only studied actual demons mentioned in the Bible or religious texts."

He listened.

"I've heard this name before." But what flushed my face the most was remembering... The encounter I had.

I recalled. I fummed back to him pouring me a glass of water, and then drinking out of it himself. Him swishing a stupid cape with a sparkling pattern underneath. Taking off white gloves to reveal long, lanky fingers.

What was it about those things? _About him? His description?_

Then it struck me hard.

I had remembered thinking that he sounded... _foreign_.

"Elliot. I know this is odd." I began coughing and in response his grabbed the Kleenex box and put it in my lap. Through the tissues I spoke, and he moved his ear in to listen. "I didn't tell you this in the email. But... I remember thinking that he sounded strange."

"Like what?" He could tell I was bothered and was growing clammy.

"He had an accent. I couldn't quite place it. Do you remember those exchange students in high school?" I was forcing myself to speak a little louder than I should be.

"Of course, I had such a huge crush of Svetlana. She was a babe."

"Oh God." I rolled my eyes, and he chuckled in response. I whispered: "Well they were all from Germany. All three; they were actually pretty good at speaking English. Do you remember their accents?"

"How could I forget?"

I knew where his mind was... probably floating downwards between Svetlana's 'rack', but I didn't care. "Well... that accent. That was his accent. It was German. Keep reading."

Trying to keep my cool while being wired to a heart machine was hard. It picked up the slightest change. I was nerve wrecked now, and Elliot was right. He'd just began reading. I was mildly alarmed.

"Mephistopheles works not in the claim to corrupt the men and women of the world, but more so, comes to serve and ultimately collect the souls of those who are already damned." He turned to me. "And you said he wanted your soul? Are you sure you've NEVER studied this before? In Demonology 1 or 2?"

"No." My breathing intensified.

"I'm telling you, everything I highlighted in here, I cross-referenced with the things you told me he said to you in the email."

"I'm getting a bit scared. I've been trying to hard to rationalize this. But, yes. The hallucination was vivid and he said he wanted my soul." My mind raced.

Damned? He collected souls of those who are already damned? Damned by what terms? I mean this is just documents, I shouldn't be so uptight. My rational brain was telling me to calm it down, but my curious side was prevailing at the moment... and if I was damned? Did that mean? Did that mean I was meant for hell? But he had said...

 _Metaphorically._

His voice was so soft. Smooth.

I asked if hell was real.

He said a word that meant 'sort of'.

A metaphor is a word that means 'like' something. By religious terms we refer to hell as this ghastly place, covered in fire and brimstone.

Was my rational brain having a lucid hallucination and in it, in me not actually 'wanting' my life to come to an end, did my subconscious make a figure speak those words to me to make myself 'feel' better? To make hell just a metaphor for death?

Or was the existence of hell really, actually... metaphorical?

And if so, metaphorical how?

And if 'hell' is a metaphor... then what is the place we call 'hell'? And what is truly a 'damned' soul then? Did he mean damned by being trapped inside bodies that are garbage? Like mine?

"Keep reading."

"Okay." He could tell I was thinking. "Mepistopheles wagers for the souls of mankind. He is trapped in his own hell by serving the Devil." He skipped down a page. "Wagering for the souls of man, is commonly grouped with the process known as 'avocation and delight'. This temptation process is known as a way to collect souls that are already damned."

"What's that?"

"Essentially it's a process, from my understanding, where a demon will advocate for a treaty with a host and then will continue to delight them until they come to a terms of agreement."

"So? It's a deal?"

I was pissed! In that case. If it was true, if all of this nightmarish ride was true, I'd been played... like a drum! My eyes went hazy with fury for a few seconds. He seen it.

"Cynthia."

I looked him cold in his stare.

Stunned, a certain look that someone gets when they are frightened because of the unknown. Elliot's lids pulsed with seriousness, his words deep, his own heartbeat quick, I could feel it on my wrist. "I don't want to believe this. But please. For my sake. For my peace of mind. In this supernatural stuff. I know it's no Ouija Board, it's no candles in a circle summoning a creature, but when you emailed me... The way you wrote about this... it seemed real." His voice got low. "Is this..."

I whispered back. "Is it real?"

He nodded.

"It felt real."

"Felt?" He instantly froze.

I had slipped. I pinched my lip together with bottom teeth.

"Did you do something?" His voice raised a bit.

I looked at him blank.

"You did. I know that look." He sighed. "What did you do?"

"I didn't even know." I squeaked out.

How was I supposed to know? What was I supposed to believe? The information was laid out. But even the man in my hallucination, not a man, a demon, said studies were vague.

 _Wait a minute. No._

If he said studies were vague... he wasn't real right? So aren't the things he said not real too, all fake? But if they were real, then what? Demon studies are plain, watered-down, utter crap he meant! Should I discredit this? Should I think about it? Consider?

 _Those lips._

The taste.

That light hint of smoke. That mint/cinnamon mix filtering in, so long the linger that the taste became the same.

My mouth tasted like his mouth. His lips warm against mine, tender.

 _Seductive._

"Hello?"

"What?!" I shrieked so loud it caused him to blurt:

"SHIT!"

The light came in from the window suddenly, a cloud had parted outside.

"He was just in here."

"What do you mean? Now?!"

"No idiot. I meant then. Suddenly. He was in here Elliot!" My voice raised as high as it could on the end, it wasn't that high, but high enough to get my point across: That I really was unsure how the man even got in. Wrong. Demon. "He talked me into something." My mind was hoping back and forth from this to that, from question and answer, from questioning the answers and whether I possessed the wrong or right ones.

I had left out some important parts of the story in my email.

But the touch.

The touch.

It never lies. Right?

"Tell me what you mean by 'feel'." He pestered.

"I." I sighed. I got much more quiet than I had been. "Elliot." The mood changed. "He was breathing. I could feel the air. I felt it on my face, I could smell his breath."

"He was that close?" He seemed again, appalled.

I nodded.

"What'd he do?" He was getting a tad worked up, Elliot was somewhat protective over me, he squeezed my hand ushering a response... NOW.

I wasn't sure if Elliot was believing me or if he was just trying to get something out of me. If he was trying to get something out of me... I decided I was best off just saying it.

"I kissed him."

"What?!" Elliot's jaw dropped and his face formed into an expression that was halfway aghast and halfway smirk-ish. He was somewhere in the middle thinking-wise.

"Yeh I felt his lips and everything."

"You're telling me. Wait wait wait. You're telling me..." He let go of my hand to make an expression I've never seen before, but whatever angry-ish eyebrow furrow he had had before was smoothed and he looked kind of nutty. "that this dude... dressed in a clown suit. Who was wearing eyeliner and had green eyeballs, you kissed him? For real?!"

"Yeh."

"High-Five moron." He held up his hand and I high-fived it with a grunt. I was confused.

"Congrats on kissing a circus freak, I hope it was sexy as hell! It's one of my ultimates."

I crossed my arms, "You're gross. You know that?" I scoffed.

"So? So are you. Apparently." He poked me in the side this time.

My mind raced with questions while he was laughing and checking his personal email. I looked away awhile he did it, I didn't want to see his password. It wasn't my business.

What has become of this? _He's laughing it off as a joke now._

A circus freak. Okay. I had thought he was a clown when I first seen him. I had asked questioned about a balloon. He was so confused. A confused hallucination. A hallucination, a dream with emotions? Thoughts? Ones that crossed a face with good-looking traits? A long face, a well manicured beard and chin strap, I had watched his eyes look around at the room, like 'it' was having thoughts of it's own.

Was I going a little nuts over this?

Maybe. My answer is maybe.

How is it that I could not be going crazy though?

Nobody experienced this. Nobody except me. I had thought he looked like an idiot, that tall figure in that white and magenta. A top hat? Seriously? It was such bad taste. I had thought he looked kooky and odd, but then, when I kissed him, which was a spur of the moment, 'why the hell not?' action, his response. His response.

I pecked him first. Just a peck, and detested peck. I hadn't really wanted it.

But then... He surprised me, my eyes had shot open... wide.

He kissed back then as if he hadn't kissed. Like his lips could speak desire themselves.

 _A true 'avocation and delight'._

No truer were words for this, for me, to me... about this.

The thoughts of him in those moments.

My view of him looking like a freak, it melted away.

As his palm held my jaw, and under that cape that draped over, I had slowly moved my hand up his side, and I felt a heat.

A male, masculine warmth coming from under his shirt, his dress shirt. His waist taught and fit.

I felt muscles, lean ones, and I felt them move in a manner that suggested... that 'he' was having a 'feeling'.

He was?

Was he?

 _Aroused?_


	5. Chapter 5

5

Saturday Evening.

11:34 PM.

I couldn't barely feel the air inside me anymore.

The nurses said it'd happen within the next couple of hours.

The darkness would come... to take me away into the abyss that I was scared of, into the void of the unknown, the edge of reality that we'll only know of once our physical body passes.

Death.

Elliot sat by me, squeezing my hand on my right. My mom and dad on my left, they were holding each other's hands (ironic since they weren't together anymore), and both had their hands wrapped around my forearm. Dad stood stronger than mom, Elliot was stronger than both.

I could feel my eyes drooping. Everything felt so heavy inside, warm liquid where it shouldn't be, gunking up my airways. I had no idea how I could be thinking of irony at a time like this, the irony of my parents embracing. The last time I seen them this close was a few years ago. It was awkward to say the least.

Suddenly Elliot's words were in my ear, distracting me from those thoughts and their faces, which were so sad, I couldn't even bare to face them, I just looked quietly out the window, completely dosed up on pain killers.

"690."

I softly leaned my head right into his lips. My mouth soundlessly worded 'what?'

"690." He put more pressure on my clammy palm. Everything around me was spinning and I kept blinking trying to stop it, but it wouldn't quit. I could feel my eyes adjusting in and out, trying to get a hold on what my eyes were seeing: flashes of bright lights, sheens of haze (like on a hot paved road in summer), mirages before me that didn't make sense that caused objects to morph their shapes.

I felt a tear coming to my eye. He was referring to a time in the past... a very specific time.

He was letting me know in the simplest way, he was thinking of when we first met.

I watched it unfold beyond my vision out through the window, out into the sky where a lone plane flickered (it could be a mirage, I wasn't sure):

 _"Oh shit! Oh SHIT!" I rushed down the hall, this school was huge and I had no idea where I was going! I had to be lost, had to be. Why did my parent's decide to transfer me to this high school?!_

 _Wait a sec._

 _Some hunky looking guys stepped out of a door wearing boxers, and a distinct 'man scent' came out from behind a mesh door, some of them were hooting and snapping each other with towels playing around._

 _I dropped my math book, on the floor which was kind of wet. I bent down and some water leaked off of it, I watched it drip onto the floor._

 _They all turned, their faces just as bewildered as mine. They obviously weren't clothed all the way, and were in the middle of goofing off._

 _I was NOT where I needed to be!_

 _"Hey girl! What are you doing down here?" One yelled over to me._

 _I was shy and froze in my step, staring down the near naked boys._

 _Silence..._

 _Until one of them came out from behind the others standing around. One that I hadn't seen to clearly._

 _Blonde hair, goggles, that he pushed up on his head, wearing nothing but a black speedo and a white towel around his neck._

 _He was so extremely fit, and I was so so extremely nervous._

 _His smile... crap._

 _Coming over by the brick wall where I stood, he leaning down to me, as I was much shorter than him... smiling into my aghast face._

 _"You look new." He took his towel off his neck and wiped my book off while I was still holding in against my chest._

 _I nodded nervously. He was so close!_

 _"Well. I'm Elliot."_

 _My mouth closed._

 _He smiled again, his personality was flirty. "Where you gotta go?"_

 _I squeaked out. "Calculus!"_

 _"Calculus? Really?" He seemed taken by that. "You must be pretty smart." He put a hand on a hip, taking his goggles off completely, spinning them around a finger, his shaggy, wet blonde hair slopped into his eyes. He shook his head roughly like a dog._ _"It's in room 690. Brennen." He cocked his head to the side looking for a reaction._

 _"Uh thank you." I looked away, jumbling my papers nervously._

 _"Yeh! Well down here is Swim Team. So, instead... uh. Take the left stairway over there and go up two flights, then take the right corridor. 690 is the 2nd door. Can't miss it. Brennen has the loudest voice. He usually teaches by yelling." He rolled his eyes. I finger to his lip in thought. "That's why I always avoid taking his class. I hate being covered in spit by the time it's over!" He started laughing.  
_

 _I crept away slowly... but kept looking over my shoulder, and I seen one of the other guys smack his ass with a towel snap and he turned laughing his head off running down the hall after him._

That was the first time I met Elliot.

And in our first encounter, I remember thinking...

Just how incredibly cute his laugh was. Let alone everything else he had going on.

But to me now... he was just 'Elliot'. He'd always be 'just Elliot.' Unlike any other I'd known, the one person I was able to share some of my deepest secrets, and the one I loved purely more as a brother. After I lost my own brother, Elliot took his place in my mind.

My mind was giving me a look into a day we shared in the past, where we had went a couple years ago to Broadstreet Ave., downtown Philly to get coffee our senior year.

We always took trips together, and anyone would mistake us for boyfriend girlfriend if they were really 'looking', but that wasn't the case.

That vision of his sappy face was stuck in my head, smiling on that day with his latte:

He was talking to me... but somehow.

 _Why can't hear his voice?_

But... whatever it was that he was telling me, he was laughing through it, and pushing up his glasses.

I felt my mouth smirk.

He scratched his head in manner that suggested that he was growing shy about something, and a flirtatious look crossed his face, his fingers tousled through his blonde locks, he blinked slowly at me.

I've seen him look at me like that many times.

A whisper in my left ear.

Couldn't make it out.

I heard a faint rustle.

Elliot never looked so happy with his coffee!

I felt my brow twitch my lip quiver.

A whisper again.

 _Why is what I'm hearing, not what I'm seeing?_

"I lo.. ve."

Then I seen Elliot wink at me and laugh, a scarf float up around his head, and he pushed it down, leaves floating around him, October. He brought the Broadstreet cup to his lips, the logo a dog winking inside a circle, to take a sip. He looked so genuinely happy, especially with those damn coffees he always got!

I watched him grab my hand, and he looked down on me with an absolute unrecognizable face, mouth clearly stammering on, he pointed and I seen a fountain ahead and I remembered now, _oh yeh_...

He had been so adamant about throwing me into it, dragging me to it by the wrist.

I smiled at him and laughed.

 _"ELLIOT! YOU'RE SO STUPID!"_

He splashed water on me from it.

 _"THIS HAS BIRD POOP IN IT!"_

* * *

"She's gone." The nurse commented in the most smoothest, comforting tone she knew how. It was the same nurse that had administered the pain killers, the same one that ran in to calm Cynthia in her first cynical hallucination. She followed protocol, setting the left wrist down across the body. "Pronounced dead at 12:13 AM. 13 after midnight, Sunday, July 6th 2017."

Cynthia's dad walked over to Elliot.

The two shared an uncanny embrace.

Elliot disliked him, and he knew it.

But this was different.

"What'd you whisper to her?" Her dad spoke to him, looking at her pale form on the bed that had the covers up on it like it was sleeping, it's hands folded over each other peacefully.

Elliot began to cry, and in such a way that her dad had never seen before. In fact, her dad had never seen him cry.

"I said..." He choked up. "that I loved her."

A tear came to his eye as well, and he blotted it with a tissue, one of the last ones out of the box that was left over.

Sharry, her mom, she had gone off alone somewhere.

"I never told her... not like that."

"Did she... you?"

"I never knew. I never asked."

"I know this is hard. But you know." He handed Elliot a tissue. "It's harder for us. Two kids. You know?"

Elliot let his preconceived hate for him slip some, the hate that he held for him cheating on Sharry, honestly they needed each other at the moment.

"Yeh. Yeh." He wiped an eye, taking off his glasses, blowing his nose, he spoke behind the tissue. "I know. I am sorry."

Her dad listened, he'd been crying, but he was all 'cried-out' at this point.

Elliot got bold.

"You know I don't like you."

Her dad's face got grim, fast.

"But I never doubted that you were a great father." Elliot smirked.

The older man did back at him, looking at the floor.

Surprisingly, Elliot rushed to envelop him in the strongest hug, holding him close as he spoke. "Even though what happened, happened, and I don't like you for that..." He whispered into her dad's ear, into his dark hair, crying over his shoulder, looking at her form on the bed. "Cynthia always had stories to tell me about you."

The older man started to breathe deep and Elliot could feel it against his chest.

"She'd always laughed no matter what story she told of you too together. She really was her father's daughter."

Elliot heard a sniffle. The older man gripped tighter.

"That's how I know, you may of made a bad decision, but you always had been and still were a good father..." Elliot looked again at the body, wishing he could just speak to her again. "And that I can't fault you for."

The man was crying again now. "Thank you Elliot, you're a good kid. If it's any consolation, I wouldn't of chosen anyone else to be with her."

Elliot reared back, exiting the hug a little bit to look at him with a puzzled look.

"I always seen the way you looked at her, and kind of in a way, I knew. I knew how you felt. I was always hoping you two would end up together. I always knew you were kind-hearted, and nobody else was worthy to have her."

Elliot crunched his lips in a pout as his eyes filled so full of tears that his vision blurred, and his hands went over his eyes, back hunching to sob profusely.

Her father put a hand on his shoulder looking away, being there for him."You promise me something Elliot?"

Elliot sobbed into his hands, glancing at him, nodding wrecklessly. His body jerking in response to sadness. He'd honestly do anything, anything for Cynthia. Even look up a crazy fictional character based off of pipe-dream she had, like he had done recently.

"You take care of yourself." He said, eyes full of serious emotion.

Elliot now calmly nodded, sniffing, finally pulling his head up.

The hand left his shoulder, and Elliot went to exit the room, brushing his remaining tears on his shirt sleeve. He stopped at the bed, and leaned down and kissed her lifeless form on the cheek. Standing, and pulling up on his backpack strap, "I promise I'll always make sure flowers are laid on her grave."

"Well you know, she never really liked flowers."

Elliot smirked. "No. No she didn't."

* * *

 _'Hello?'_

 _My voice, why is it echoing?_

 _'Elliot! Where'd you go?!'_

 _Why am I stuck at this fountain?_

 _'ELLIOT! Hello! Elliot!'_

 _Why is nobody paying attention to me?_

 _'Hello? Ma'am? Ma'am?'_

 _Why is she not listening to me?_

 _'Ma'am! Can you tell me where my friend went? Ma'am hello! I'm waving my hand in front of your damn face! Can you see me at all?!"_

 _Why is she ignoring me?_

* * *

-TWO HOURS LATER-

A blonde man cleared his throat.

The nurses looked up from the counter.

"Uh. Hi."

"Can I help you?" A younger one responded.

"Uh yeh I left a college textbook in a room up here. Uh 4828?"

Another nurse stood from the other side. "Oh, I recognize you. You're Miss Cynthia's friend hm?"

"Yeh."

"I hate to tell you this, but we haven't put the body in..."

"It's okay." He waved, cutting her off. "I'm okay. It's okay. I just need my logistics book. I forgot it."

"Do you want me to go grab it out of the room?"

He knew the nurse was just suggesting out of courtesy.

"No no." Elliot waved again in a 'dont worry about it manner', "It's alright I can handle it."

The nurse nodded, sitting back in. "Okay hunny. Just go on in there and get it." She smiled at him a warm smile, fully understanding how he must feel.

He wandered back down to the room, listening to his breath as he put his hand on the door knob. This was the last thing he wanted to do was to go back in here. He couldn't bare to see it again. To be back in the room, this room.

But he had to get his book. Had too.

* * *

"Oh my you look so cute!" Mephisto spoke out loud inside his self-created sound/vision bubble, hiding both his sounds and his appearance from the outside world. He poked her cheek with gloved fingertip.

The door clicked. Instantly he shrank his bubble to be just around him, only extended out by 3 feet around him, rather than encompassing the whole room.

"Who are you hm?" He said raising an eyebrow, obviously not expecting company, obviously not engaging the blonde human, obviously the man, no boy, couldn't see or hear him. His question was more for his own bemusement. He stood from her beside and watched curiously. He'd expected the morgue operator, not this kid.

The spectacle bearing blonde took in two huge breaths before opening his eyes and shutting the door behind him.

Mephisto noticed they went right to her bed.

"Hm." Mephisto observed him. Obviously he had known her, his eyes looked too 'weepy', not to of. He crossed his arms, bringing one hand up to his face, stroking his beard.

Mephisto was waiting on the 'death rattle'. That horrible sound the body makes when the last of the air exits. In it, also comes the soul, releasing itself from the body.

The soul, an invisible force, not glowing like on some television shows, can only be seen with a special light blessed with Gehenna magic, that he held that was purple in color. It showed the soul, looking like a vapor. It was how Crossroaders would identify 'when' the soul was coming out, keeping that steady light on the contract's mouth.

Mephisto looked to Cynthia's dead body. He clicked the light on his keychain, the purple one, off and on in irritability, like how a person would use a laser light to play with a cat. It was kind of amusing watching the light flash on and off over her now dead, features.

"Uh. Maybe I should just sit down and wait." Mephisto rubbed his chin still, snapping the light on and off. He was growing tired. He couldn't imagine what was going on in the dying brain right now. It always pulled to a happy moment.

He watched the boy walk over and look out the window, pulling the curtain on it aside a little. He looked like he was in thought.

Mephisto rolled his eyes rather rudely. Cynthia's soul was his possession and this was getting in his way of it.

"Of course, I've had worse." Mephisto mumbled. His mind going back to a few hundred years ago, when he actually had to show himself to collect a soul. The woman had been weeping over her dead lover, and she wasn't letting go, crying over his body like she'd die herself without him.

Romania, her peasant dress dirty with soot and face strewn with horrifying sadness.

So pretty was her face, but so sick was that man. He had had Tuberculosis. A disease with no cure at the time.

His sound and vision bubble broke when she accidentally entered it, and she got to see his face.

He followed up on her after, they hauled her off to the 'mind house' they called it. A place for people in Romania that the time that were 'troubled'. She'd been telling all the townsfolk about this witch she saw, a male witch.

Mephisto chuckled in remembrance. Only he would. They really had thought, he was a witch! Of all things!

 _How low on the totum pole!_

Witches. Honestly... were the lowest hierarchy. He felt no remorse for the woman.

He could understand lovers, as demons were slaves to pleasure, but not that sort of pain involved after a death.

The kid walked away from the window and grabbed a book of some sort. It looked like a school book.

"Ah, forgot books." He made a tsk sound. "Not at True Cross!" He clicked the light, and in it, he just began to see a white vapor finally appearing, just like a small, thin, incense smoke would burn. "Finally." He retorted with a hand on his hip.

He wanted nothing more to get this done and go back to Japan, and lay on his couch. He positioned a clear jar with a skull over it on her mouth, not touching the skin, but close enough to where it would clearly be emitted into it. It was magical as well.

Souls could permeate matter materials, all matter materials, except human bodies, and he needed a strongly enhanced item with a very specific, old bonding magic placed on it to capture it. This had been his jar since the early 1900's, he'd had four of them. But each one, as time goes along, the magic decreases and slowly degenerates and the jars, having a previous spell casted onto it, couldn't have another.

This jar looked very old fashioned, like blown glass, with cut etching on it, indicative of the period, but it closed with a spring latch, like all his jars had, all four. It always had to be a jar with a latch, to seal the soul in, so nothing outside could cause harm to it either during transport.

The boy got a little closer and Mephisto sneered.

He was stuck holding the light and jar completely occupied, his eyes were on the boy, like maggots to meat.

This soul, of all souls, was easily one of the most important souls he'd ever collected, and he wouldn't let that boy ruin it.

The blonde started looking through papers inside the book sitting on the end of the bed.

The bed rocked, and the soul flame wavered, Mephisto was rock solid in not letting it escape. The demon in spandex and top hat growled in response, hand occupied. Usually this is easy, clean, simple, in the present day, he'd collect rather easily.

There was a wait time between the morgue and family exit; rarely, after the family was done mourning, did they come back in the room, and in that time, the soul would exit and it would take mere minutes.

"I'm going to miss you Cynthia." The blonde, he reached and put his hand on the body's hand suddenly, causing Mephisto to growl again in his own personal frustration, as the jar was finally starting to fill, and he suddenly had to jerk back his bubble some more.

He didn't want an incident happening like it did in Romania.

Did he care? Probably not, probably shouldn't. But it was a rule of thumb for a demon like him, being seen meant words being spoken, and demons all operated behind closed doors, and behind invisible sense barriers.

Mephisto felt his feet tapping.

The boy let go of the hand, and good thing, because Mephisto just finishing up, looking at the soul, snapping the lid closed.

Sometimes the death rattles were loud, sometimes the weren't, and this one certainly wasn't.

"I bet you almost didn't have any air left in there did you?" The sly demon bent down breathy and put a long exaggerated kiss on her cheek. "My my, look at your soul." He pulled away, shining the purple light into the glass jar to get a good look, then snapping it off with a click, it was disguised as a key fob to a car. "So much mana in it. You and Rin must of split a very old one." His pulled up on his cape, and pushed down on his top hat holding onto the jar tightly.

Gearing up to make an exit.

The boy was still sitting on the bed shuffling papers.

Mephisto was just staring into the jar. Never had he seen a soul with that much mana, not in awhile, not since he first became a Crossroader. Of course, the jar just looked empty, as nothing could reveal the jar's contents except that light, and he was just staring into the clear glass, wondering how that that came to be.

He hadn't expected that much mana, the jar was so completely full. How was it that that old of a soul came to be attached to these bodies? His assumption was because of Rin, a mighty being was being born, whether of Assiah or Gehenna, didn't matter, souls are drawn to energy.

Most of the worlds corporate giants are born with older souls.

Mephisto made a hmpf sound. Made sense as most world leaders, politicians, anyone in an important stature usually had an older soul that had split for them at birth. Most leaders, officials, it was 'natural' in the way that some of them ruled, that they had a 'knack' for conducting business.

It was the indication of an older soul, possibly war torn, possibly ancient, possibly strengthened by the previous body owner's life that was lived. Humans just wrote it off as 'natural talent'. So not true.

Not that a human couldn't learn a talent over time.

Mephisto felt something brush him and it caused him to blink away from staring at the jar in thought. "Hm?"

The boy on the bed suddenly jolted off the bed in a sweeping motion, grabbing it backpack to his chest and nearly lodging his body more than halfway across the room.

Mephisto's green orbs widened suddenly in realization and snapped.

Disappeared.

* * *

Elliot had been reading notes in his workbook.

He hadn't been ready to leave, honestly was making excuses in his head not to, he'd settled in a bit and at first even though he didn't want to come back, just being in her presence made him at ease, even though she wasn't 'there' anymore.

Reaching inside his pack, he remembered he had been crumbling papers up inside his pack on the plane, to thrown away later when he had a chance. His fingertips brushed them.

Pulling out one he went to toss it in the waste basket across the room behind him without looking. He launched it over his shoulder.

It didn't matter they would clean the room after they took her body, even if it missed and landed on the floor.

"Hm?"

A SOUND!

He nearly leapt out of his hide!

Elliot's heart went into his chest and he flung himself off the bed so fast, grasping his backpack in an effort to protect himself, as he turned he seen a flash of some strange shiny fabric.

Then it was gone, only a half second.

He laid sweaty and panting on the ground, wiping his face.

"What the fuck!?" He screeched.

He seen his paper ball on the bed.

It hadn't made it to the trash can at all!

Alone in the room, stammering, he grabbed his stuff and stormed out.

"Hey! You okay there!" That same nurse called. The boy had been in there a long time.

The young man looked frightened as he hastily and briskly hustled towards the elevator.

She just watched him pass, really really fast.

The elevator closed and Elliot was hyperventilating.

"What. What." He repeated, and finally it came out. "What..." Spooked. "What was that?"


	6. Chapter 6

6

Miska took his white collared long coat off of his shoulders, revealing the tight suit vest and dress shirt underneath. "Sugu ni modoru Pheles-sama? (Back so soon?)

"Hai Miska-san." He nodded in appreciation to her in taking his outerwear, and hanging it on the exquisite coat rack in the corner of his office. His office was quite grand, much like his expensive lifestyle, everything expensive, plush, comfortable.

"Tasukete mo īdesu ka... (Can I assist with...)" She reached for the clear jar that he sat down on his mahogany desk, so finely polished, the reflections of the outside sunny sky illuminated it like a mirror.

He snatched it up away from her, just before she could grasp it. "Ahh... Īe Īe. (no no.)" Mephisto put the jar inside of one of his desk drawers and shut it, then looked to his secretary.

She was just staring at him.

His action had made it look like he was very protective over the object. He played it off, waving non-chalantly, lying of course, plopping down in his office chair, taking off his top hat and setting it down to his left on the desk top, to reveal that silly curly-Q barrette he always clipped at the top of his head. "Antīku. Hijō ni kōka." (An antique. Very expensive). He wasn't telling Miska-san about the jar, there was no need. Just leave it as antique, she wouldn't touch it. He would move it after she left to a safer location.

Miska-san nodded, standing straight up like a string from her previous hunched, curious stance. "Mochiron! (Of course!)" Her mannerisms were apologetic.

"Okay Okay." He waved, pulling out a wine glass rimmed in leaf gold and a decanter of deep red wine, pouring himself some.

It was normal of Sir Pheles to add in bits of either German or English, Miska-san knew he spoke a few other languages, she just wasn't sure how many exactly. He was quite the educated man, and she knew she wouldn't have anyone else as the dean to the school than him due to that fact.

"Miska-san, anata ga dekiru koto ga arimasu. (There is something you can do.)"

"Hai." She pushed up on her glasses, crossing her hands over her notebooks, a pen snapping. Ready to take notes in seconds.

He took a lengthy sip, and sat the fluted glass down with a light tap on his lush reflective desk top, letting the last of the afternoon sun warm his arms which sat daintily on the armrests of his giant cushioned chair, which looked more like a throne than an office item.

"Miyaki Haru."

Miska penned the name quick, nodding.

He put his gloved fingers to twirling his pointy beard, looking at the glass of wine, the trail of red, very translucent, creeping back down from where he just drank. "Watashi no ginkoin wa yatta... (Did my banker...?)"

"Hai!" Miska confirmed. "Kare wa kino sokin o yameta. (He stopped sending funds yesterday.)"

"Keiyaku ga kyanseru sa reta? (And was the contract cancelled?)" He perched his fingertips delicately on the glass, bringing the edge to his mouth, waiting a response as he brought the sip to his lips, slowly he let the sugary taste into his mouth.

"Hai. Kyanseru. (Yes. Cancelled.)"

"Yoi. (Good.)" He sat the clear flute back down, swallowing slowly, feeling the sweet liquid flow down.

"Yoi?"

"Hm. Hai, yoi."

"Honkidesu ka Pheles-sama? (Are you sure?)"

"Puraibebetoai wa kare o mitsukemasendeshita. (The private eye didn't find him.)" The dean breathed in deeply letting out a slow breath. Acceptance. He had to face it. He moved the flute a little too fast, causing the liquid to slosh a bit inside the glass, not enough to cause a mess, but a enough to clearly express through action to Miska that he was not happy about it. "Kare o kyuryo ni azukeru hitsuyo wanai. (No need keeping him on payroll)."

"Gomen'nasai. (I'm sorry.)" Miska looked saddened. "Watashi wa... (May I...)" She hesitated, then just came out with it, snapping the ink pen, the ink cartridge going back inside the pen's casing. "Nanika o iu kamo shirenai? (May I say something?)"

Pheles-sama looked up to her slowly with a lidded look, green irises glancing from a chin on knuckles in thought, to staring at her. He nodded. He half wanted to know what she was going to say, but half knew what she was going to say. Either way, it was probably something in regards to his current attitude.

"Pheles-sama. Kono toki watashi wa anata no tame ni hataraku yo ni natta... (In this time that I've come to work for you...)"

She didn't speak with much confidence the dean noted, even though the girl was chosen right out of True Cross itself to be his personal secretary, a high honor she certainly earned, and that position would certainly look good as an internship on paper, the girl's attitude didn't match it. Demure and shy.

That was unattractive to Mephisto about her.

"Watashi wa anata ga jonetsu o katamukete ita koto o yameru koto o shiranakatta. (I've never known you to quit something you're passionate about.)"

That made Mephisto smile an endearing smile towards her, and that sort of lit the girl up in the face.

"Watashi wa anata ga sono otoko o mitsukeru koto ni tsuite dorehodo jonetsu-tekidearu ka o shitte imasu. (I know how passionate you are about finding that man.)"

"Atta. (Was.)" A singular response confirming his current feeling towards it. Past tense. Mephisto no longer felt passion, he felt hopeless in it. "Sono hito no kotoba wa mohaya mondaide wanai. (That man's words no longer matter.)"

"Naze? (Why?)"

"Watashi wa karera ga ima usoda to shinjite iru. (I believe they are lies now.)" He poured himself another glass full, perhaps Miska was a bit too close to his personal life/business matters. Perhaps he needed to share less, but in order to put in calls to the Private Investigator, sometimes Miska would have to do them, and take the reporting, especially when he was away on business, wherever that business might take him, or whatever it was about.

And he was gone... a lot.

She signed papers of confidentiality though, she couldn't say anything outside the office.

"Shikashi, sono otoko wa kanojo ga anata ni kuru to itta. (But that man said she'd come to you.)" She picked at her uniform's sweater.

"Zenki. (Said.)" Mephisto sucked on his wine, taking in a thick double-sip, finishing half a glass in just that. If he was having this conversation, he needed something to sate not just his hurt ego, which he realized because of this, was reaching a more humbled place than he'd been for some time, but also the idea of the man, this Assiah-bound 'Seer' of wisdom actually having possibly told him lies those many many years ago. He gathered himself, he looked with forests of mist to her nearly black eyes. "Watashi o okora seru subete no uso. (All lies to make me angry.)"

The Seer, being a demon, was still alive, had to be, he was sure of it. The PI never found him after nearly 15 years of employment by Mephisto.

It had been 750 years since Mephisto heard anything of him. Mephisto had always looked just on his own, until he hired the PI. It was a last resort, and still no turn up.

"Watashi wa kare go uso o tsuita to wa omowanai. (I don't think he lied.)"

"Sobokuna shikō Miska-san. (A naïve thought.)" He chugged the rest, quickly delighting himself in filling the rest of the decanter's contents into his wine glass, a bad habit of his, overfilling past the 'proper fill line' on flutes. He didn't care, he liked the wine, and nevertheless his habit, his current mood wanted the numbness a little alcohol could provide. "Anata no jinsei o totemo danko to shita shinkokuna uso o tsugeru made mattekudasai. (Wait until your told a serious lie that effects your life so resolutely.)"

She didn't say anything. She just looked sad. Mephisto figured probably because she knew he was frustrated and quitting.

"Totemo kanashī (Don't look so sad.)" He sighed, topping the empty glass decanter and putting it back inside a deep drawer in his desk. "Anata ga watashi to onaji kurai no toki ni... (When your as old as I am...)" Mephisto lingered on the thought of how impossible that would be for her since she was only a human, but never the less, he knew his statement would be applicable in the sense that at the bare bones of it, he really was just 'older' than her. "Watashi ga motte iru kagiri anata wa matteita... (And you've waited as long as I have...)" He sighed, lounging back in the throne office chair, sipping, his words over a pool of red liquid. "Shizen o ushinau koto wanai. (Losing hope is only natural)."

Miska's eyes widened, she looked utterly deflated hearing that from her superior.

Mephisto knew she looked up to him, he in fact, had chosen her for the position out of many applicants, he knew she respected him for who he was and his education, he knew all that. It was just then that he realized that she must also of expected that his life was some swirl of courageousness. That he possessed a power to not give in, never give up. Not true, this world wore on him, just as it did to all the humans. To everyone.

"Chōdo watashi ga kurō shite inai to iu imide wanai. (Just because I'm a dean doesn't mean I don't have struggles.)" What he meant was just because he was a 'demon' doesn't mean he didn't have struggles, but of course, Miska didn't know that, never would he let her, so he so briskly replaced that word in his mind before it was spoken with a more applicable one: 'Dean'. A word referring to a position of status. He was fairly certain it was a good word to get the point across.

Humility.

He had thought he felt through this he was being humbled more so than he'd felt in years.

And now these words. The words he spoke out of his mouth. They proved that as such.

* * *

Elliot laid awake in bed.

Staring at the ceiling, they were probably prepping her body at the funeral home as they spoke... preserving, for the sake of family members to view it a week later.

How horrible.

He knew she wanted to be cremated. He was sure that the only way that Cynthia agreed to a funeral home was because she had extra family flying in from Nevada; he knew it was the family that she didn't really care for, the gamblers, rich ones that owned every car known to man kind; her mom's side.

Her mom's sister's family, so greedy, and not helpful with Cynthia's medical bills, or her brothers; 'a long time dispute', Cynthia had said.

If they cared at all, they would of showed up at her side, like he had, right before she passed, so they could see her while she was still alive.

He made it back, he barely scraped by in his bank account to do so, but if there was a will there was a way, and he had to call a few friends up on some favors to get the money they owed him. But he had done it, he got there.

So what will had they had... to see her?

Not a will at all apparently.

But Cynthia had been so kind. She cared for her family, even though that side never was present through a majority of her life.

He put his arms behind his head, glasses still on, staring into the tiles in the ceiling, thinking that maybe how he felt right now was how Cynthia had felt before... before she left the world.

His eyes were traced with wetness. He'd still been tearing earlier.

But that fabric.

What he thought was fabric.

Was it?

His mind raced, his body itched, not in anticipation, but with something else. What was it? He couldn't place it except within a mix:

Fear? Yes.

Confusion? Yes.

Animosity? Yes.

Hallucination?

He wasn't sure. But he did hear something. He did. He seen something, he thought.

Was this was Cynthia had been going through?

The difference, he knew, was that he was healthy. He was. He was on his college Swim Team. They required not just health physicals/drug screenings every season, but the sport was difficult, he wasn't allowed to let his body get out of shape in the least bit, or he wouldn't make the team again in the following years.

You had to swim certain times with certain types of styles or you wouldn't make it.

This meant going to the gym to run, cardio if the pool wasn't open, if the pool was open, he'd do laps after laps. He skimmed on pizza and burgers unlike most college students. Swimming was a passion of his, and that was more important than anything else other than his studies.

He liked the competition.

So he was healthy, beyond healthy. He admitted he had trouble seeing, he had to put contacts in to do swim team, but he was wearing his glasses when he saw what he KNOWS he saw.

For as still as he laid in bed, his mind raced a million miles per second, he was just forcing himself to lay down at this point. He'd done research after research, his laptop in his face for hours. He wasn't in a hotel, but he was in his parent's house back at home. In their hometown.

He was back in the room he had had since he was a child, which was awkwardly now, a guest bedroom. His place wasn't here at this house anymore, it wasn't 'his' home, it was his 'parents' house.

He would stay for the visitation, funeral and will-reading, taking an extended leave of absence from school, he was surprised he could get all the class 'passes' in such a short period of time. He even had to lie to one of the professors and say it was his girlfriend that was in the hospital.

Not that he had minded that idea. Didn't mind that at all.

She just kept getting sicker and sicker.

He breathed in deep, staring at the ceiling, letting it out, rubbing an eye.

He loved her.

It was hard for him watching the girl he cared for, so deeply, slowly dying. He knew her attitude too. She was a fighter, but Cystic Fibrosis. It was such a serious disease. He struggled and fought with himself internally for a few years after he realized how he felt, should he tell her or not?

Would he be a horrible person if he did? Would he be a horrible person if he didn't?

There were pros and cons to both sides.

The route he chose was gray-area. Not a word to her about it, but in his actions, he just couldn't help it. His chest had always felt tight, he yearned to tell her, but since he was so unsure of the route to take... he'd just flirt around with her, which didn't seem to bother her, in fact she'd do it right back, but that wasn't necessarily a sign she liked him back. She had confided in him so much about her feelings about her brother and his passing, that he (kind of in a way), knew that she viewed him as more of a best friend.

With her growing sicker, more ill as time passed, and quickly, the situation was... so hard, difficult.

He'd stressed over it.

But that stress... now that stress wasn't over, like he thought it would be. Not that he had wanted that stress to be resolved, because he wanted her to stay alive, her and her fruity, ridiculous nature. A tear began to form in his eye with that thought.

He wiped it away.

She had chosen, she had chosen to finally 'give up'. To end it, the disease was getting to be too much for her.

The stress didn't end though, the anxiety he felt in wanting to express his love, but feeling held back by physical circumstance and her 'possible' non-feelings towards him. Especially after... seeing what he saw.

The fabric?

If it was.

He couldn't lie. Cynthia's last email, the short one about the 'demon'. The 'vision'.

Itchy to the bone it made him.

What if?

He couldn't lie to himself. His eyes hurt, he'd just spent hours on the computer searching and cross referencing material, his brain in some dreamland, hoping something would be found, that he could gain a grasp on it all.

It was love that drove him.. and the event itself.

The event in the hospital room.

It was unmistakable.

It had to of been fabric that he seen. Had to of been.

Cynthia's typed words in the email, distinctly he could read them as she knew she'd speak them, her knew the intonations of her voice so well, her pronunciations. The sans serif paragraphs were ingrained into his memory at this point:

 _Elliot. I'm freaking out here._

 _Can you seriously do something for me, and NOT make fun of me later? I know you're flying in, don't poke me in the side on this. I know you'll do it anyway :)_

 _I'm feeling really weird Elliot. Something must be going on with my brain. I'm starting to see stuff. They said that this would be a result of a lack of oxygen that I can understand, that's medical reasons._

 _That's only the logical side of what happened._

Elliot remembered asking himself at that point what in the world happened.

He remembered feeling instantly upset that something must of happened.

 _But I mean, come on Elliot._

As he laid in bed looking up at the ceiling, he smirked. She always over-used his name. He loved it.

 _I'm dying here. Just help me and hear me out. I want to believe that what I seen was a hallucination, but I seriously am leaning towards thinking it wasn't._

 _There was someone in here, in my hospital room. He was tall, not tall tall, but taller than you for sure, he had extremely dark hair, maybe not jet black I'm not sure, but it seriously was very dark. And his eyes were the greenest I've ever seen on a person. He was Caucasian, also he was dressed so weird. I thought he was a clown at first._

 _It was like a combination between Emo and Circus freak. White tailed suit jacket, cape, top hat. A cane, gloves. A dress shirt and vest. white bloomer shorts. Magenta leggings. Yes leggings, striped ones, big thick stripes of magenta and a deep purple._

 _But the way his hair was cut shaggy and razored with bangs and the way his black eyeliner was smeared around his eyes, it was perfectly-imperfect._

 _Elliot. I promise you I am not insane._

 _This person was in here._

 _And he told me a bunch of dumb garbage about how he was a demon and wanted my soul._

In bed, Elliot grunted in an mm sound, thinking about the image of the 'demon'. Maybe he should draw him?

 _One more thing, he said his name was Mephisto._

 _Does that ring any bells to you? I took Demonology and I could probably search it up, but I'm so tired._

 _I'm gunna get going. Just look up info for me. I'll see you in a few hours._

 _Love, Cynthia. As always you turd._

More than anything Elliot wanted it to be true. But where would he be taking it? Her soul? Did he have to save it from a demon then?

He just... had no information. And it was all crazy.

But seeing that half second of fabric. HE WAS CERTAIN there was NOBODY in the room when he had walked back in to grab that textbook. NOBODY.

Something made him shiver, a chill up his spine in bed, up his neck, making him lerch to the side in discomfort...

Then some demon out there in the world, this Mephistopheles had Cynthia's soul.

What was he going to do?

She sealed the deal... with a kiss.

His stomach felt like turning... a kiss.

So many times he got very close to doing so himself.

It was... all so...

Elliot speechlessly laid on his side, lips moving together in an overwhelmed fashion.

He had no idea what his next step was.

 _Mephistopheles._

He'd had no luck searching on the internet. All mystical/fiction stuff, none of it real.

Just one day at a time.

He supposed... it was all he had.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Snapping gloved fingers, he instantly was inside of another hospital room. He swore, this was all he ever did. Well, it wasn't the only thing he ever did, that was an over-exaggeration, but truly, aside from being a dean, working with the Vatican, this was the only other 'career' he had, if you'd even call it that.

The Vatican had no idea this was his job as a demon. He'd kept it quiet, as he wasn't too keen on letting the human's know too much of the hierarchy within Gehenna. He doubted that Vatican officials would even let him muse them so if they knew. What he leveraged on the most, was that human knowledge of demons was plain, and in that, he would be able to operate freely throughout Assiah doing this and doing that, and going on his merry way without much intrusion.

This time though. It was certainly something.

He'd collected a soul not on his list...

That was highly against protocol.

He wasn't just lying to the human world, masking his true identity as a collector, but rather... he was lying to both.

"My my." He pulled the etched jar out, smiling. His smirk expressed the sort of angst that was uncommon, and unknown to his features. It was forced. He knew the repercussions of doing such an act, and his expression while still silly, looked strained.

Down in Gehenna, you weren't just court-marshalled for such a plight against the court's will, but you were chastised to prison for acting on your own accord. Essentially, doing your job without booking it, lying, or stealing a soul, which in this case, he'd stolen Cynthia out from under the rug of another demon, would get you put in lock down.

He'd followed the demon around, the one he tracked like a bloodhound, that was set to collect Cynthia's soul, and found that he was one only within his first cycle, a fledgling, out getting drunk on a work night, on the complete other side of the world, in England, where it was night already.

What had that childish youngster been thinking? That he'd have a few, and then skip on over to the USA to pact with the girl? At least he had more decency than that! Showing up drunk to a do a job, how irresponsible!

It was almost too perfectly in his favor.

As Mephisto bought out the bar with his own cash, completely unnoticed in the bar's back end (by costume change into a hoodie of course), he made sure that the 'elementary-schooler' and his company were loaded up with liquor, loud music and women.

He'd paid the bartender an extra $1,000 to keep the table stocked and busy.

It was chump change for Mephistopheles, but he'd pay anything to of been able make the pact with her, and it turned out that it was much easier than expected. He licked his lips recalling, not nervously, enough to make them wet. It wasn't often that he got to kiss, let alone with another that he thought was mildly adorable.

He had to seal his deals with an exchange of body fluid, people had no clue how many lecherous humans he had to lay his mouth on. It disgusted him. People were downright horrible when they were sick. He smirked, at least Cynthia had been entertaining, and a woman.

The last ten pacts or so, he'd had a straight run of men. Getting males to kiss him was the worst struggle, it was so much easier in Victorian times, men and women both, due to their culture, had a quite pent up sexuality.

It always had to be them first too, the human had to do it first, that was what was hard about modern times.

And the demons... they didn't necessarily fight on what souls to collect, but it certainly wasn't out of the ordinary to see that another crossroader had stepped out from underneath of you and managed to make a bargain with soul that was on your list.

It actually was a common, refutable practice.

All because of preference.

They all got tired of grotesque, ill kisses, it really was quite selfish how demon's all heard of a pretty girl dying, and would flock to try to get there first.

And they couldn't be mad, couldn't be upset. There were a lot of them, far too many, and it wasn't like there was a name looming over the head of the person after the pact was made that told you who'd done it.

But... it was a matter of if you got caught doing it or not.

And Mephisto, he never got caught. Except for that one time in Romania. Damn it. Not only had he been revealed, he'd also been jailed for 20 years.

At that time, it had been a man he'd been after, for other political reasons.

This wasn't common though: It was forbidden to place a soul into someone else's body. Unheard of.

The Magna Spiritus.

That was what the spell was called.

It was natural that souls got reused, or even 'reincarnated' as some Assiah religions called it, it was a natural process, at least that much was true, but the act of forcing reincarnation, the Magna Spiritus, now that was something he could flat out be imprisoned for, not just a slap on the wrist 'bad bad' like stealing someone else's soul from a list.

How the court managed to determine that 20 years of imprisonment was a palpable verdict for stealing another's soul, was yet another thing entirely on it's own. How they got their decisions, reminded him so much of the Vatican. How they ran their politics was so much the same!

He swore someone in the court had it out for him! Or worse, someone in the Dracul Ki.

If they found out, the watcher's of 'code breaking' within demon jobs, he'd surely be reported, found out. These hired warlocks that worked for the demons, nicknamed after the fictional Dracula due to their unique paleness of skin, had the right to act freely as the 'police' force for the Gehenna court. No matter what world they were in.

A lot of humans mistook them for vampires, all lore and imaginary, but they were really real. Only the most outlandish ones were the ones that drank blood, used it for preserving their bodies, and refreshing their own blood. It was all magic, and some of the Dracul Ki warlocks had been around just as long as demons themselves.

Surely it was possible that someone had it in for him there, but there was no digging into that force, not without someone knowing. If reported, they alone would have enough evidence to trap him in 'hell' in a locked cell for who knows how long!

He tapped the jar, flicking on that purple light, watching that smoke billow around inside. "Harmless now aren't you?" He whispered, he was inside of a sound bubble, knowing fully the risk he'd brought on himself for this. He was unsure what this spell would do to the room, to the atmosphere, to him. He had no idea.

He'd paid a witch he knew for answers, materials, one that he could trust. And even though he sneered at their low ranking stature, this one in particular understood his reasoning in wanting to do so. It was the only way she agreed to lend a hand and not alert the Dracul Ki of his treachery.

Mephisto snapped his fingers again, a small floating table appeared, which he grabbed, and upon grasping it with both his hands, it retained it's gravity from his magic, and got heavy. He placed it right across the form laying in the bed.

None other than Okumura Rin.

"You've gotten quite, eh..." Mephisto bent over and pinched the cheek of the kid. "fat." His nose upturned at that remark. The older demon was quite vain. Whatever the hospital was feeding him through the feeding tubes, it must be not that healthy. The non-movement caused muscles to grow lazy and weak, but it was also diet. The demon noted that his eyelids were so swollen and there was a yellow-ish hue to his skin, which was normally a brighter color.

Rin kept slowly getting sicker and sicker looking. The soul growing lame inside from inactivity, muteness of the body.

Yukio wasn't here, away on mission, so it was the perfect timing.

Mephisto chuckled, laying contents out, taking off his black gloves, preparing himself for the ritual. "That bothersome brother of yours. In here every three days like clockwork." Tch. He made a sound. The exorcist watched his downed twin like a hawk to a fish.

Poor kid was buckled down at first with loads of paperwork with this last 'Rin-cident'. The amount of consistent lies Yukio had to smooth over for the Vatican to keep the boy in school at True Cross (and not put to death) for his outrageous blow ups of flame was excruciating, and exhausted the bespectacled twin, but actually quite amused Mephisto.

He admitted Yukio was quite creative in the ways he lied, he'd honestly make an excellent demon.

Yukio's habits however, he couldn't stand. It was annoying.

Honestly? Could he give Rin space at all? Mephisto was concerned also about Yukio giving him the space... to do this, under his nose as well of course!

There was no way that Yukio would agree to this.

So, he just had to sit and wait it out. A soul shouldn't be kept inside of a jar longer than a month, luckily, within three days from the day of collection the brother was gone away... and to Kyoto of all places! Had to take a train to dispatch and would be gone a week.

The first long mission he'd taken since Rin's coma.

Mephisto was overjoyed at Yukio's absence, even though it signaled that Yukio was accepting Rin's fate... as a vegetable. Sad it was really. Yukio would just sit quietly at the desk in the corner, do his work, much like he assumed he'd do in their shared dorm.

It was like, he was having trouble letting go. Why wouldn't he? They were twins. Brothers. He knew under that hard exterior, just by Yukio soundlessly sitting in the corner, that he loved him. The few times he'd visited himself, and while not as close to the blue-eyed, blue flamed little demon, he could easily recognize that Yukio was closer than what he thought originally just by his actions.

All the more reason why he had to do the ritual and fast. Not only was removing Yukio from the room like ripping off a leech, but the Dracul Ki knew the familiar pulsing of magic from miles away.

"Here ya go!"

Mephisto jumped at the familiar voice echoing from aside him, instantly inside of his sound bubble.

He grumbled and rolled his eyes, looking at the gray-headed woman appearing from a mist of blue. For an elder and always late, she had some nerve frightening him like that!

"Jus' rattlin' your cage 'Phisto boy!"

"Ughh." He let out another disgusted grumble. "Can you please call me Mephisto?"

"Oh!" She cackled a sickeningly sweet laugh, unlike her age completely. "I forget! You hate th'nicknames!"

Hn. His mouth crunched in, he ignored her as he lit a bundle of sage and started smudging the room to clear it and purify. "Don't tell me you forgot it... like how you forget my proper name." _Along with everything else._ His mind stammered.

"No! Of course not!" She dug around inside of her dress and it caused Mephisto to feel sickened on the inside as she did so. Like her hands were touching all her body parts at once. Where'd she hide it? Under her boobs or something?

Mephisto's tongue got a familiar taste that told him he needed to throw up. He tried to contain it by looking away, he didn't want to insult the witch, but the imagery that kept floating into his head of hands touching a naked old woman's body...

"Here y'are. Finest pork blood a witch can get." She slammed the vile down with other viles on the table. "So, this the kid?"

"Mhmm." Mephisto simply mumbled. "One of the two."

She smacked him across his shoulders and the sage smudge that was burning wavered. "Stop bein' so formal. It's weird! Where've you gone?"

"It's replaced with focus!" He blurted out. "Of all the times to be serious... it's now Carmenia!" He went back to waving the sage around. It was nearly burned out. He lit the contents of the small bowl on the table with a sulfur match, a mix of spicy cinnamon, honey, the blood she'd brought, and a few other rare spices.

"No need t'get snappy! Seein' as... I decided t'help you."

"What?" Mephisto looked at her, then looked away. She better not expect anything out of him, the pact they held, it was a worded one, and not written, as Mephisto didn't want a paper trail.

"You are takin' this seriously aren't ya?" The woman had such an informal approach and speech to everything it bothered him.

"I just said that."

"I mean look a'you. Black clothes. Hidin' from Dracul Ki no doubt hn?" She sniffed up some booger in her nose.

Again, Mephisto felt sickened a bit by her manly habits, she reminded him more of a street urchin than a reputable witch. He knew they were all quite 'aesthetic', but that wasn't a good term to describe her as a person. He had taken a drink out of Cynthia's glass, but that was different, demon's didn't get human sicknesses. He liked to think that snorting up nose gunk was a whole different realm of distastefulness than what he allowed himself to do.

"I had no idea that y'owned clothes other than white ones."

"Stop with the banter Carmenia. Just... what do I do next?"

"Hm." She scratched her face, looking pouty, spying that the ash was now burned down inside the bowl on the table. "Where's th'summoning star?"

He pointed, eyebrow twitched. Boy she was blind! It was under the bowl, as her instructions said. _Batty loose-leaf_. Mephisto caught his brain babbling again.

"Oh right right. Seems accurate." She spoke some words in latin and suddenly sprayed a mist of sea salt spray in the air.

He coughed at her quick action. "Forewarn next time!" It slightly burnt, as all demons were lightly effected by pure forms of salt. And she knew it! What the hell was wrong with her? Batty was the exact perfect description!

The burning wasn't third degree, but it was equivalent to a bee sting. He yanked his hoodie sleeves down. He'd felt worse.

"You're readin' the Ghanta though buck-o. I can't translate tha'garbage."

Mephisto couldn't wait to get back to drink some wine. After this charade, he'd have more than six glasses! One for every 10 minutes of dealing with this old bag! He deserved it.

Ghanta, the demon language was largely unspoken amongst the Gehenna populace, much like Latin. But he could still translate the texts, but unlike Latin, demons grew up studying it intensely because it was the only thing spoken in court.

"Ahabi, rett lone matuli. (Alone, this soul become alive.)" Mephisto grew uncharacteristically quiet as the soul with the purple light leached against the glass, indicating some form of intelligence. He knew souls had some smarts, how they pick and chose bodies he'd never understand, but watching one actually waking and acting on it's own accord it was fascinating.

It moved as if it understood what he'd just said, what Carmenia had just spoke also.

She continued on in Latin. It was longer this time, and she sprayed over the body a mist of rose oil, she ended and just looked at Mephisto, who was lost in thought. "Forewarning, this one ties you t'the ritual. The soul needs energy t'transmit itself into the body, an' your energy it what it's takin'."

"Well." He put a hand on hip, jutting it out, beard pointy. "Thanks for that this time."

The woman simply mused at the demon's jests and poke towards her earlier unwarned action. She should of probably said something, but she was just too excited, and she knew it was making her scatterbrained. Could he really blame her? She'd never seen a Magna Spiritus performed! She couldn't wait to add this to her expertise, one that would never be mentioned of course, due to it's treasonous nature, but surely it's give her experience.

"Lone julinett curidi na sulin for tunis. Lone kulibot, rundimass. Bribi con matuis luness. (Soul speak to the body before you. Soul caress, looking. See your once partner.)" Mephisto felt a swirl on emotion sweep over his mind. Suddenly, he had a flash of heat swarm him, send tingles up his arms, and he felt intense bonding, like how someone would feel he supposed had he a brother, or a sister, a feeling foreign to him. That he could control. But when it flashed into something more deep, an intense jealousy, one that he had no idea how to explain, then into a sadness that caused his eyes to well for no reason, hiding the intensity was impossible.

Carmenia watched hands shoot to Mephisto's face, lanky fingers covering eyes, cheeks flush in embarassment. "It's not easy. I said I'd do'it fo' you. But y'stubborn, and wanted t'do it yourself."

It wasn't rude or vile what she said, it came out as a matter-of-factly. She knew an untrained person wouldn't be able to handle a spell of this caliber, and that he was a fool for taking it on himself, that was why she'd bargained in return, that if he was going to go through with breaking the laws of Gehenna, that she'd want to be the one to mentor him and see it done.

Let alone put life back into a weapon that could be used against the court!

How she hated the demon court.

She admitted the boy looked sick as hell laying in front of them right now, this Rin, obvious the coma had brought his body down some, but also Carmenia was concerned for the soul. She wondered exactly how deteriorated it was. It'd been 3 months... so probably a lot. She didn't know what was in store for this soul to bond with the other, trapped one. If it would take to anything the trapped soul had left to survive or not.

She'd never seen this done before, and they were both in the dark about it. Clueless. She quickly spoke in Latin the next line, feeling a bit sorry for the creature of the night standing next to her mourning like he'd lost a baby, stuck in an odd anxiety.

That's what it was. He was attached and feeling the soul's feelings, all connected to Cynthia's last emotions. But he knew what he was in store for. He's known this.

She'd warned him that this might of been a possibility, more than a possibility, an actuality.

Mephisto mumbled the next few sentences in Ghanta, uncontrollable sobbing taking him to places inside himself that hadn't been reached in years. With such force it was dragging his head around, and he knew it! He had no idea how to control it, but that soul of hers! Now that it was free, and he was connected to it, he really could feel it's power.

They really were, really were the breath of life to bodies!

The bodies just husks, a form without cause until the soul molds into it and makes it come 'alive'.

So powerful. He felt consumed.

He watched Carmenia move towards the jar, and he was just able to get a hand in front of her's to unsnap it himself.

"You." She shook her head. "So possessive! I've come this far into falseness wit'you, don't cha think that now would'be the worst time f'me t'steal something that's not mine?" She laughed. "Unlike you walkin' all over that poor kiddo's list. I bet he got a reamin'!"

That laughter brought him out of it a bit to the other side, past the emotions. That cackle, as ugly as it was, drug him through, and finally he was able to speak normally again. "Gu. Shut it."

"Ah the soul is filled up n'energy now. Feelin' tired?" She picked up he could talk again rather than whisper.

"Very." Mephisto admitted. Damn. His bones felt weak, and he was a high level court demon, not a rank as high as Lillith, the governess, but high enough that he'd had plenty of magic granted to him, but he hadn't felt this tired in... years? Possibly a decade.

The soul began to filter inside the nose of the body.

"Here's where we'watch n'wait." Carmenia informed.

He nodded. The whole matter of the soul filled the bed ridden teen. It was gone, completely inside of him. For as simple of a spell as it was, it was damn powerful, and it took so much energy, that it wasn't possible for a mere human warlock to do it, and since it was forbidden in Gehenna, you wouldn't catch any demons lending hands.

Many demons most likely wouldn't be able to do it either, none of them possessed enough strength to do so. For you had to let the thing suck you dry of energy while staying awake, or it'd break loose.

"It's not goin' to be immediate." She breathed in deep. "If it works at all."

Mephisto breathed in deeply. _It better work._ Rin's body waking up was all he had left.

"So we..." He looked around the room feeling lightheaded, he fanned his face with one of his gloves, so glad the crying fit was over! What a ridiculous state! "sit around and wait?"

"I wouldn't." She stabbed. "Dracul Ki, if any were 'round, bet they felt it."

Mephisto mulled. Wagered. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He'd taken so long getting everything prepared, the right linens to draw the star onto, with the correct Baltic ink. The bowl made of volcanic rock, three-toed. The spices, so rich and hard to find, he'd even taken a trip to Gehenna to get some of the herbs.

That in itself required it's own portal. He couldn't just hop, skip and jump over to Gehenna, take a bus or ferry. He had to open a portal through another spell.

He'd planned for Rin's awakening by renting out an expensive loft downtown Tokyo, close enough to True Cross though that he, or should he say, 'she', could get to school and back on the bus. For he didn't want Yukio to have him living with him.

It would be easy to spot that something was 'off'.

What if the body awoke and it could no longer speak Japanese, but English, as was Cynthia's domestic language? Yukio would definitely know he'd done something then.

Not that he was afraid of the poor sighted teen, not at all, but he was more so content on keeping it from the Vatican. He knew Yukio didn't serve them entirely loyally, but he just couldn't trust it. On top of... the fact that it could wipe out 'Rin' forever.

That was a part... that would be worth mentioning. More than. Mephisto bit the side of his thumb's fingernail. But the reaction he'd of gotten from Yukio at that possible... possibility?

Oh boy, and _oh no_.

It was the only choice that he really had, to insert Cynthia's soul into Rin's lifeless form, but Yukio would take it personal. Again, why wouldn't he of? It was his twin. His twin's mind, erased? Gone?

Rin lost into the ebb of reality: that his personality, everything that the soul alighted, his dreams, goals, happiness, sadness... replaced with someone that he didn't know, someone Yukio had never met? With that a possibility?

No way in hell.

 _But in Assiah?_ Mephisto smirked. How selfish this decision was that he made. It wasn't like he didn't consider what Yukio would think. Oh did he!

But really... it was a yet another risk amongst this treachery that he had to make to see this through.

He was selfish, that he knew. He did this for the common good. For all the citizen's Gehenna had, if they only seen it that way...awful to think, none of them did.

So a flat high in the city it was. Away from everyone, recovering with Mephisto's close mentoring.

But this, waiting around in the hospital, he hoped the body would wake within the next few hours. If not days. While Yukio was gone. That way he could move him, or 'her', and speak with whoever was dominant in there about what was going on. Certainly he didn't want to overwhelm the awakened one with the truth behind it all.

He simply said what was needed to Cynthia, and surprisingly, she'd laid a smack-a-roo quick right on his lips. How snap-decision she was! A quick thinker.

He guessed, he'd have to deal more of her personality, by the looks of it, she was going to be a bit hard to manage. Making quick decisions might be tactile in some respects, but also dangerous in others.

"I'm gunna make the call." The witch suddenly exclaimed. "We can't stay here. It's like robbin' a bank and stickin' around after!"

"Mhn." The slender demon had just been thinking that. "Let's move to The Federal."

She nodded. "Le'me do somethin' first." She unscrewed a tiny ball from a charm bracelet around her wrist, it floated into the air and disappeared into the heart machine at Rin's side. "Crystal balls come in'all sizes!"

Clever. Good way to keep track of the functions of the body. Any heart fluctuations would indicate a change.

"What wine do you want... partner in crime?" He smoothly lipped to her. Why the hell not invite her along? After all, she'd seen it through, he guessed. Not the finest company, but it was company all in all.

"I'll take gin."

The demon's nose curled.

Yuck.

Grain alcohol?

He grabbed her arm, rolling eyes, regretting the invite now.

He'd not only have to deal with the astute, but nutty witch, but also harsh smell of percentage alcohol filtering from her un-brushed teeth.

With a snap they disappeared.


End file.
